


Ashmaker

by Palmira



Series: Project Leviathan [1]
Category: Fallout 4, Shingeki no Kyojin | Attack on Titan
Genre: Alternate Universe - Post-Apocalypse, Drug Use, Erwin's taste in music, Fallout, Levi's unique reaction to alcohol, M/M, Rough Sex, Violence, cynism, gunfights, lone wanderers, superhuman abilities, synthetic humans
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-10-13
Updated: 2016-12-15
Packaged: 2018-08-22 06:41:29
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 2
Words: 45,815
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8276410
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Palmira/pseuds/Palmira
Summary: Levi is proud of belonging nowhere, a lone wanderer in the wastelands with no past and no ties, but strong enough to survive. He cares for no one; he doesn't need to.But when fate introduces him to a man who may or may not be either the best companion or the most unsettling synthetic monster he's ever seen, there is no way to go on as before.(This story uses the universe of Fallout: I will try to avoid technical terms from the game, or explain them accordingly)





	1. Part One

**Author's Note:**

> A/N: It's my personal mourning for our beloved Mr. E. Smith, as well as my humble attempt at a homage; I tried to make a original story, but to be honest, it was bad. And I miss that old man more than one should miss a person that doesn't even exist. I really do.  
> But if you still like this written form of self-therapy, I'm very glad!

The sky turns into the ugly yellow color of old bruises above him, promising acid rain and thick fog for the hours to come; a weather where it is best to find shelter to avoid the nuisances that will follow in its wake.

Levi can taste the hostile moisture in the air, it prickles at the membranes in his nose: not enough to cause him actual damage, but easily irritating his senses. The wastelands constantly dulls them if you aren't aware, as if the constant threats wears instincts of both caution and calm away, leaving behind a tense, paranoid husk blind to the actual danger.

Not him, though. They can't get to him.

The crumbly concrete scrunches beneath the soles of Levi's boots, the first remain of human settlement in hours. He has been wandering through the wilderness for days now, occasionally catching glimpses of small lodges or old roads but never going near them. Levi is careful, and he usually doesn't enter a building unless he has observed it for a couple of hours – in the depleted, ruined landscape around him, everything standing out draws attention. Compared to that risk, he has traveled in the cover of the brownish underbrush for days with hardly any trouble worth drawing a weapon for.

By now, however, he is starting to run low on purified water, and the oncoming acid rain will contaminate the standing water beyond what a charcoal tablet can clean. Levi has little choice, but he prefers to act as long as that is still the case: once his supplies are were gone, he will be forced to trade, while he has the chance to restock on his own now.

Trading is a necessary evil, albeit it is turning into a nuisance these days. Levi has never liked growing close to people, despises their quick way of burdening him with their expectations and demands, and as long as he doesn't try to trick them, most of them have learned to respect his distance. Until lately, that is.

Levi listens intently, pushing his thoughts aside for the moment. Across the potholed street he is currently standing on is an old, red brick building, although he can't grasp its former use. It is too remote for a normal house and has no special appeal; Levi has learned to avoid places like old shops or gas stations that are too appealing to the wrong people, but he is also very wary of houses like this one, so nondescript it seems to fade into the landscape of brown cypresses and bent power poles.

There is an abandoned hydro station further upcountry that he has passed on his way; Levi has avoided it despite the promise of fresh water, sensing risk that he isn't willing to take yet. Maybe this house has once belonged to a headman or something of the like. The road leads on to a railway in the far distance: Levi can still make it until nightfall, but if he doesn't have any luck with finding quick shelter, he is in for an unpleasant couple of hours. And luck is generally not something he bargains for.

Drawing his shotgun from the makeshift-holster on the inside of his coat, he makes his decision and proceeds towards the house.

Levi circles it first, finding an overgrown garden and an empty carport in the back. The doors are boarded up, but the glass of the square windows has been shattered long ago and allows an easy entrance, though Levi winces at the screeching sound of the old hinges. He opens the window closest to the corner and presses against the wall next to it, waiting patiently for approximately six minutes for anything to move within the house.

Nothing. The wind picks up a bit from uphill, blowing though the hallway: Levi holds the window in place so it won't slam shut and smells the air. It is dusty and thick, and there is a tang of something organic slowly mummifying. Levi tenses, considering his options while his eyes scan the area, never letting down his guard even for the seconds he needs to think.

It could be a very good sign, or a very bad one. Maybe the house is untouched, and whatever has lived here is decaying peacefully in a remote area that simply draws no raiders to it. Or it is the smell of a ghoul, and there tend to be more than one.

Levi knows it is wise to be wary of ghouls – they are rabid creatures with little sense for pain or exhaustion, their bite is messy and infectious and their attacks are easy to predict, but fast and powerful. And yet Levi can't bring himself to fear them. They have once been human and he doesn't fear humans; of all the garbled mess of wildlife in the wastelands, he doesn't feel intimidated by the outgrowth of an old civilization.

He grabs the window frame and pulls himself up onto the ledge. Dry grass and the remains of a shrub of oleander crackle under his soles, and Levi pauses: if the ground around a house is parched, it generally means something. Usually, it's concrete underneath that draws the moisture away, maybe an extended cellar or even a bunker, and that could be the detail that bothers him. The sky has turned sulfur yellow now, and Levi swings his leg into the house to sit astride, the shotgun on a level with his hip to give it support.

The hallway is short and murky, a rumpled carpet is half-tugged under one of the doors, possibly to hold it open. Levi counts four doors left ajar, two to each side, and a wooden stairway leading to the attic – not as clearly arranged as he would have liked, and the casual destruction and disarray tell him this house has at least been plundered once. But that puts things in perspective for someone like Levi, who would have grown extremely alert at the absence of signs of vandalism, and the household doesn't appear to be damaged beyond use. If he's lucky, there is an intact cistern somewhere: the pressing question is whether he should search for it upstairs or in the cellar. Both might turn out dangerous if he isn't alone in the house, trapping him in a dead end.

Levi climbs into the house, setting his feet as quietly as possible. The floorboards still creak and there is another gust of wind that makes the hinges of the window Levi has used moan. He glances at the stairway to his right, then at the hallway. If the owner has left behind traps, they probably have been sprung already, but if he's making assumptions-

There is a dragged sound above him, and someone, _something_ gargles.

Levi doesn't hesitate. His instincts are sharper than anything, he senses hostility and hunger and doesn't need any further clarification. When he ghoul lunges at him from its cover under the stairway, he shoots, and the twisted, inhuman face is lost.

Something inside the house growls, and Levi keeps his back to the open window for an emergency escape as he waits for the ghouls to find him. His hands in the gunner's mittens are cold and the smell of oily blood seems to coat his nose when he breathes it in.

A second ghoul shuffles from the kitchen, almost unwilling, if that were possible for these creatures. Its long nails are dark with blood, its wide mouth opens and closes at Levi before it breaks into a run towards him. He shoots twice, then advances towards the kitchen although he knows there's nothing he can do for someone who fell prey to a ghoul. He can, however, end it.

The kitchen is small and only one chair stands by the dining table: it's the door that has so far been held open by the bunched carpet. Flies buzz lazily in the dusty room, and the stench of clotted blood assaults Levi immediately. He grips the shotgun harder and looks up.

There is no unlucky settler to be put out of his or her misery. It's a raw chunk of meat, probably Brahmin, that's hanging from the ceiling just out of reach. The underside is frayed, as if something with long, sharp nails tried to grab it and could only graze it. Any creature of basic intelligence would have climbed onto the chair or the table to take it down, but common ghouls lack methodical thinking; someone has put the bloody meat up as bait, probably to keep the ghouls around for whatever reason.

Anyone knows that blood in the wastelands draws all kinds of dangers near. Levi doesn't trust a house where someone has put up a bait, but it _is_ a good place, and he could sleep here, so he's hesitant to follow the voice of caution. Deciding he needs to examine the whole house before he can make a decision, Levi turns away from the grisly decoration and turns on the faucet of the kitchen sink. It spits brownish fluid and the water pipes in the walls rattle much too loudly for Levi's tastes. He immediately turns the faucet off again and listens again, quietly cursing his thoughtless move – _if_ there is someone else here, it won't be hard to guess that the ghouls lured into the house don't test the water supply.

Something in the full trash bags stuffed into the corner of the kitchen stirs, and Levi's heart skips a beat; his stomach, unfazed by the smell of rotting meat or ghoul blood, now lurches so suddenly it makes him sick.

Levi hates insects. When a radroach crawls out of the old garbage and lifts its forewings to prepare an attack or an escape – he doesn't know, he doesn't care – he shoots without careful aim, bullets piercing plastic as well as chitin. It takes three shots until he has reined his reflex in; wasted ammunition, but he feels better for it. His galloping heart slows down, and his stomach calms now that the radroach is dead. Once the insect is dead, it means nothing to him, it becomes the same nondescript material that covers the wastelands. Be it rusting cars, gnarled trees, old skeletons or simply rocks, death in all its forms is ever-present here.

Levi briefly runs the backs of his fingers over his mouth as if to wipe it; the smell of smoke and soap that clings to the gloves is familiar, and as he exhales, he's himself again. He reloads the shotgun and begins searching the remaining rooms.

The creaky floorboards are present there as well, but they turn out to be the worst risk Levi encounters. There is a master bedroom, a messy bath and an entirely empty room that may once have been planned as a nursery. Levi finds outlines in the dust and dry leaves that suggested movement and long scratches in the wallpaper that are oddly narrow for an adult's fingers.

The assumption that the stairway will be even louder than the floorboards and warn everyone possibly lounging up there makes Levi head for the cellar first. He finds the hatch under the stairway where the first ghoul hid, a ladder leads into the ground. The hatch is made of simple wood, he can blast it open if someone should close it.

Even without peering into the square manhole for minutes, Levi can tell there's light burning. Probably a separate power circuit for the bunker, as the electricity in the house seems dead for a long time. It turns this house into a valuable base, even though Levi isn't looking for one, and it means that whoever occupies it won't go without a fight.

Levi only wants water and a short rest, so an arrangement might be possible – he doesn't believe in it, especially after someone drew the ghouls here – but since he's received a greeting so nice, he has little qualms about fighting himself. His coat rustles when he lowers himself into the manhole, descending the latter on his back with one hand on the rungs, the other aiming the shotgun downwards. Every one of his senses is on full alert; if there is someone lurking, this is the moment for attack, and he has no idea how large the basement is, the purpose it was built for.

He is not scared. When he reaches the bottom of the ladder and sets his feet on dry, bright concrete, the tension flowing through him makes him strong. His steps are nearly silent, the hand holding the shotgun is steady and slowly begins to warm. The air he breathes is stale and cool, but he doesn't smell anything that signals danger, and the only thing he hears aside from his own low sounds is the chatter of a generator somewhere. There are tall shelves stocked with a few conserves that nobody cared to take, and the light of neon tubes further away.

Someone's here; Levi feels it. Not many people, perhaps only one. That's a good basis for negotiation, even though Levi is shit at diplomacy and doesn't bother refining his skills. He pushes the shotgun into its holster and walks, not watching the sound of his steps now. His ears still pick up everything as he follows the generator's rumbling, his eyes scan the surrounding.

For a bunker, this place contains surprisingly little food and fuel, even considering that it has probably been plundered at least once. The entrance hasn't been hidden that well, but it's too remote for raiders to drop by for resupplies. Levi discards this thought for now when he reaches the area illuminated by the neon tube. The generator is now close enough to hear the whir of something that is probably a simple ventilation system to remove the exhaust fumes of burning gas.

Behind the shelves is a long workbench with some tools Levi has never seen, a shabby drawing board and a man with a pipe revolver in his hand.

It doesn't point at Levi, at least not yet, just rests in the palm of a hand, the index finger loosely hooked around the trigger. Levi knows this kind of weapon: sloppy aiming, powerful shot, wide range of nasty customization options.

But he doesn't draw his own gun, calmly stares ahead as the man slowly withdraws his hand from the revolver. Levi trusts his instincts, and they tell him that this person is like him, not fighting if he gets nothing out of it. He has the luxury to avoid fights now, although sometimes he needs to remind himself of that.

They are silent for a few seconds when there is neither a threat nor an offer of conversation – then the man simply averts his eyes and looks back to the workbench and whatever occupies him.

Levi studies him for the next long ten seconds. He's ash blond and tall, strong and built in a way that suggests being raised for that purpose, not short and bony like someone who's barely scraped by as a child. His gear is matching instead of ragtag, too, and Levi remembers the stare of his unfriendly blue eyes like the touch of cryospray. The man has no visible scars, no sunburns on his face, his hair is even somewhat tidy and combed and he's clean-shaven.

If they had met in a settlement, Levi would have given him a wide berth. As it happens, this is an odd cellar and nightfall is advancing quickly.

“Hey.”

The rasp of his own voice scratches the inside of Levi's throat – he hasn't spoken for a couple of days, and it always makes him wince to start again. He's never been especially fond of this rough sound that feels like barking.

The man's hands come to a stop. Levi still doesn't recognize the tools, but he can see that the man is stripping different electrical devices for spare parts to fix something laid out in front of him. An energy weapon, by the looks of it: they are easy enough to come by if you know where to look, but this is probably the first time Levi sees someone repair one.

There are reasons for that. He can still turn back or initiative a fight, but it isn't a sensible thing to do, and Levi hates hysteria.

He clears his throat, although his vocal chords keep feeling like a bit of talking rubs them raw. Maybe it has been longer than days since he used them; it didn't seem so, albeit Levi isn't terribly interested in keeping track of dates.

“I killed your alarm system.”

The man is unfazed. His eyebrows are blond, too, and strangely thick. Nothing in his face moves when he regards Levi, but he doesn't do anything else either; he doesn't fiddle with tools or shift in his seat, as if he wants to do precisely one thing at a time.

It can make one restless to look at him.

“I heard.”

His voice is deep and not nearly as raspy as Levi's – maybe he talks to feral ghouls when he's bored. Levi doesn't really care, he just wants his arrangements without chit-chat.

“'m taking some.” He jerks his thumb at the shelves. He doesn't really need canned food, but if you make demands, you always ask for a variety of things to disguise what you're after. “Got any water? Heat?”

He tests whether the man will try to be helpful or trick him, or if he'll say anything at all. It's oddly amusing how unperturbed the other is when facing an armed stranger on even ground, though not enough to make Levi forget about the 'alarm system' in the house. Sooner or later, this guy would have had to emerge and deal with the fruits of his plan... or get torn to shreds, if he isn't fast enough. He doesn't _look_ fast.

The man obviously isn't bothered by sharing his find; it's plenty for two people anyway, since Levi is merely passing through. “The cistern is to the left. You can take the hotplate.”

He briefly gestures at the object sitting on the workbench, where he apparently gathered electrical devices from the house that might come in handy. All in all, he acts like Levi is a guest staying at the same inn as he: not surprising, not interesting, not dangerous either. He has obviously arrived at the same conclusion as Levi – that he isn't facing a raider, only someone he can coexist with for a short time.

Levi hesitates. He hasn't taken a look at the attic yet, but with the windows and the stairway, it's unsafe compared to the cellar. However, staying underground with the possibility of being locked in doesn't sit well with Levi. The stranger probably plans to stay here, after he's prepared the house to his liking.

Levi takes a step towards him, eyeing him coolly. He knows people are unsettled by his pale eyes with the small, vicious iris; ironically, the glacial blue of this man's eyes unnerves him a little.

“And the basement?”

It's a challenge for this place, although Levi has been the last to arrive – in terms of fairness, he doesn't get to choose where he sets up camp, the safest spot is already taken. Raider's logic, though, dictates something different.

The man only slightly cocks his head. The cords of muscle in his neck stretch with a menacing crick, a sound that could be a warning as well as a random physical phenomenon. Levi isn't sure and tenses subtly.

“You can stay here. Once the epoxy resin is heated, you can use the generator.”

He says it with an even-tempered finality that fascinates Levi for the duration of a whole second, both stating his rules, giving in to the challenge for territory _and_ acting like he expects Levi to know what 'epoxy resin' is and what it's used for. Perhaps it's the last part that makes it impossible to grow irritated at the patronizing way those words could be taken, even if the voice speaking is neutral and smooth.

Levi snorts and flips him off. “No need.”

He takes the water and a glass with what looks like preserved pumpkin and tomato, and the hotplate for good measure. The blond man doesn't seem to watch and continues his work, and he doesn't try to talk, which Levi appreciates.

On his way out, he glances at the weapon that's being repaired. It's a laser musket; he's seen them before, and like all weapons that use fusion cells as ammo, it originates from the Institute. People in the wastelands use those weapons, but they don't fix them, and since the laser guns are produced in unknown factories, few mechanics understand them.

These days, it gets people wary. Levi has learned that by now, so when he walks past towards the darkness outside the neon tubes, he wonders whether he should ask the question everybody seems to fear hearing.

_Are you a synth?_

Synthetic humans, perfect copies that take people's identities after killing them and operate for the Institute. Nobody knows for sure who's a synth unless you kill the person and find the synth component, and regardless of the synth's motive, everyone is scared. Levi has been greeted by that fear often enough, he feels like the paranoia has rubbed off on him.

But he just climbs up the ladder without a word and throws the meat bait out of the house, then retreats to the attic. It's a single, spacious room with a bunch of weather maps and more odd instruments that appear to belong to a meteorological station. The previous owner's hobby, apparently.

Levi installs a few tripwires, plasters the holes in the window glass with weather maps and heats water for a good, thorough scrubbing. There's even a foldaway bed to sleep on, musty yet relatively clean, and it's nearly pleasant up here. Even the food from the glass jar isn't that bad. When the rain comes, the feeling of smug security is faint but existent.

It's as good as it gets, Levi thinks.

 

The next morning, Levi exits through the window he used for his entrance before and leaves. He doesn't need to know whether the blond man is still in the basement, he has water now and while the preserved vegetables have been a bit of a welcome change, the glass is too fragile to carry it in his backpack. He's gotten a good rest and avoided the rain, and while the nature around him is now coated with remains of a sourish film and the humidity in the air is a little heavy, the view is clear, the sky somewhat blue and the temperature cool. It's a good weather for traveling, and the wastelands lay out before him, brown, yellow and bits of green, scattered remains of old settlement among struggling nature.

Levi prefers it to the dead cities he's grown up in. The wastelands feel like a place that doesn't like humans, is tired of them, but at least it's honest in its animosity. He enjoys the landscape with light, spiny woods, rocky ground and little wildlife he can't handle. He also uses fewer chems here, the memories don't claw at him as much as when he stays near cities – this part of the hinterland has hunting boxes and some power stations and not a fucking soul to bother him.

That's what Levi thinks until noon, before he picks up the voices.

He's walking upwind because it's better to be wary of Yao Guai around here, mutated bears that quickly turn aggressive when their territory is invaded. So the voices carried in the wind reach Levi before he normally would have heard them even with his sharp ears, and he pauses. The short hair in the nape of his neck stands on end before he can make out words, sensing danger by instinct rather than logic.

Levi hasn't taken the road towards the railway, instead making a detour to go cross-country and put a hill comb between himself and the road so he can still follow it without meeting anyone. Caution pays off as he hears several dogs barking at each other, then a thundering voice silencing them. Raucous laughter follows, something howls.

Levi approaches the hill comb, crouching when he draws near to disappear behind thistles and crippled trees to confirm his instincts. He trusts them, and at the same time, he can't help it; he needs to make sure, as if his abilities had ever failed him. If they had, he'd be dead.

It's a group of raiders: he can tell by their number, their faces smeared with grime and paint, their aura of lust for violence. Levi counts five dogs, not trained ones, just mutts beaten often enough to savage anyone and anything that crosses them. The group consists of seven raiders, three women and four men with ugly sub-machine guns and bloodied knives. Their movements are restless, like the chems have penned up their energy and now it has nowhere to go: Levi recognizes their near-aggressive banter without understanding the words, the shoves that are a little too hard, teeth bared too often. It's a pack that he can easily dodge, and he should do that exactly. Their trigger fingers look nervous, and they are coming from the direction he's headed in, so avoiding them will happen automatically as they're likely to stick to the road.

They'll discover the weatherman-house inevitably, then. Levi briefly wonders whether the blond man is still there – he'll get trapped if he isn't quick, and a whole of twelve opponents is a bit harder to handle than a few ghouls. The risk of holing up somewhere.

Levi thinks back to the hydro station he's passed on the day before. It's a good hideout and safe quarters if you can clean it; if raiders settle there, they're sure to claim this area and recruit more scum, maybe even ally with another group. It's as possible as a gang war for the hydro station, yet as he regards those people, Levi wonders whether he wants to risk them festering here.

He can take out a few, and he's familiar with the region they're headed for, but it's not enough, and he's alone – they won't retreat if they're up against a single person. And they have those dogs that fear their masters more than some bullets, even a non-trained dog can sniff out an attacker, especially since Levi's shotgun requires at least medium distance.

However, Levi knows where the group will likely camp for the night, and he's recently met someone with a sniping weapon who's potentially interested in putting up a fight. If not, there are still options, Levi hasn't put himself at a disadvantage.

He will have to be fast, though. The group is dawdling for now, but that might change, and Levi has to get ahead of them without alerting the dogs – meaning a larger distance than normal – and keep an eye on his surroundings while thinking of a plan, because he can't trust the blond man to do that properly. The only thing Levi trusts is that man's common sense, which should tell him that raiders can't be negotiated with if the odds are clearly not in your favor.

If he's no longer inside that house, it's shitty luck, nothing else.

Levi withdraws from the hill comb quietly, makes a wide turn and then breaks into a brisk jog he can keep up for hours. His breathing falls into a rhythm with his steps as he sets his feet with as little noise as possible, a skill he's had to learn when he set out into the wastelands. They constantly challenge him and provide him with freedom, and that's the reason Levi runs back now: he's not about to give up the privilege of wandering wherever he wants to, even if it's just this area.

And he's spoiling for a fight, too.

 

The weatherman's house is the same as before, no new vermin has settled in. Something has dragged to chunk of meat away, and Levi really doesn't care for it; his senses set out to detect whether the blond traveler is still here.

It's late afternoon and Levi feels reminded on the same situation yesterday, but this time he's deliberately noisy and heads straight for the hatch.

There's no light down there. His stomach drops with – what, disappointment? For some reason, he's sure that-

The stairway above him creaks under heavy, slow steps and someone crouching. Levi feels the pierce of a blue gaze before he's quite lifted his head to see who it is, and honestly, it spooks him a little. As much as he trusts his instincts, he has to _verify..._

The man descends the stairs and shoots him a curious glance – he's doubtlessly made his own assumptions about Levi and correctly arrived at the conclusion that he wasn't meaning to stay another night. It puts Levi on guard and at the same time, he feels an irritating pang of inhibition.

“Hey.”

It's the same greeting as yesterday, and Levi's voice hasn't become any smoother since then.

“Did you light anything up there?”

Even in broad daylight, someone might notice the possible sign of life from afar, and Levi catches a whiff of something burnt, the smell of a welding shop.

The man briefly shakes his head without looking up; his gaze is focused on Levi, wakeful and neutral. “Is someone coming?”

So he isn't slow-witted, though Levi isn't willing to respect him yet. Instead of confirming what he considers obvious, he rasps: “Your gun working again?”

The man's grim face relaxes in a nearly imperceptive, expectant way that lets Levi know his guess about the character has been accurate enough.

“It'll do.”

 

There's a part in Levi that's built for violence.

He could tell himself that he's merely conditioned by his years in the Combat Zone, where violence is the only currency open for him, both his worth and the ideal weapon. But that's not it. If anything, the Combat Zone instilled his anger in him, his desire for freedom and no mercy for those getting in his way.

This part of him is nearly excited as he crouches down behind the old couch in the living room, the anticipation feels malicious. He idly wonders how long he will have to wait, and the thrumming of his blood isn't affected by possible hours.

He still doesn't know the other guy's name, hasn't asked him: if he dies, Levi won't keep the memory for long. The man didn't ask for his name either, their exchange has been clear and brief, no more words than necessary. Levi has a good impression of that man's skill at tactic, and if he gets everything done he's agreed to, this will be an efficient procedure.

He's told Levi that the epoxy-thing hasn't quite hardened yet (presumably the reason he stayed behind), but that it probably won't impair the musket's accuracy. Levi has used firearms for long enough to know that there are dozens of reasons for a shot to be off target, so 'probably' suffices for him.

He waits patiently until he hears them coming.

The group's tension has increased since Levi has spotted them; the mood is riled, the long walk with nothing to focus on has fueled conflicts. Even the prospect of staying somewhere sheltered doesn't seem to do much, because Levi hears muttered curses even as the heavy boots pass the doorstep.

The blond man has surmised that they will leave the dogs outside, and since the mutts feel the aggression threatening to unleash on them, they stay behind. Maybe they will run once the fight begins – it's unlikely, and they'll be no less dangerous once they turn feral, but putting them down touches something within Levi he doesn't want touched.

The first raider – his face is sloppily smeared with soot around the eyes, the _psycho-paint_ – enters the living room and spits out. Levi and the stranger have moved most of the furniture to the previously empty room or damaged them, so the couch and a heavy bookcase are the only usable pieces left. The faded carpet has more folds now, hopefully no one will notice until it's too late.

Just as predicted, the raider flops down on the couch and Levi, who has nearly ducked under the cushion, silently slips out and aims. The barrel of his shotgun doesn't graze the man's skull or his short hair – common mistake – before he pulls the trigger. It's painless and messy, a merciful end for someone who even wears a paint for killing for fun, and though it is an upward shot, Levi feels the spray of warm blood on his face, tastes it on his lips.

Eleven to go.

Levi can't waste time waiting for the reaction, he takes a flip-lighter from his pocket; one of the things scavenged here. When he hears heavy boots running closer and something growling – kicked dogs and the smell of blood, he understands those beasts but can't pity them – he flicks the burning lighter over the couch and cowers.

The lighter doesn't hit perfectly, but it sets the thin carpet aflame and heats the bottles of whiskey hidden underneath. They burst and release a blaze of hissing heat; Levi feels it even in his cover, smells the revolting odor of burnt flesh and has to clamp a hand over his mouth to suppress a cough.

The element of surprise has been used up for now, but the raiders still don't know their number or position, and the Molotov-cocktails must have hit something.

It also occurs to him that if the blond has ditched him, he won't find out until now.

The smoke burns in Levi's eyes, but his fingers don't need clear sight to reload. He's barely snapped the double-barreled weapon shut when he catches a movement in the corner of his vision and aims; he was hoping his cover would hold longer than this, but well, bad spin.

One shotgun shell glances off armor, the other one hits home. Again, Levi doesn't see a face, this time because of a sack hood covering the head. He merely sees the red spreading underneath that rough cloth and reloads again, then comes to his feet.

Ten left.

There's a mutt in the doorway of the living room, whimpering while trying to rise, and Levi makes the mistake of looking at the hairless, gnarled canine face. His shoot is off-target in the sudden rush to end its pain, and he has to waste his other shot to kill it. Memories try to scratch at his mind as he takes a few crouched steps backwards and fumbles with the shells, so he sees the baseball bat coming down on him a fraction of a second too late. He's quick enough to duck his head out of the way but can't entirely evade the hit, so when the wood connects to his shoulder, it feels like his collarbone breaks.

The pain is white-hot and gorges through his whole arm, yet Levi refuses to drop the shotgun although his left hand is temporarily numbed. He claws the weapon somehow and slips out his switchblade, plunges it into his opponent the moment the raider raises his bat again.

The wooden club falls from his fingers. Levi jerks the switchblade back, his hand slick with blood, then kicks the man back before he topples over and might bring Levi down with him. He hisses once he rolls his shoulder – it will be few minutes until the muscles are back to use, given that no fibers are torn, but he's down to eight now.

The remaining raiders must have swarmed the house now. Levi hears a crash, probably a fragmentation grenade thrown onto the roof: the shattered tiles create a vicious shower of sharp ceramic and force movement. A lashing crack follows, the sound of an energy weapon being fired.

He's not dead, then. Good for him.

Ignoring the throbbing in his shoulder, Levi steadies his left elbow and backs out of the living room before the biting smoke gets to him.

Two machine guns, no, three are rattling: one produces an echo that suggests it's being fired from a room, a tiled room by the tinny sound of it. That makes it easy, and as long as the shooter is distracted, Levi runs for the bathroom.

Another mutt gets in his way before he's quite there, its long, lipless teeth are bared in a snarl. Levi has to skid to a halt before he crashes into it. He shoots – that's seven now – but has to sacrifice his cover. The raider whirls around without stopping his machine gun, and Levi dives to the side before he gets riddled with bullets. One or two graze his skin, a few scratches more that cause no pain; the real nuisance is his left arm that still is weak, so he doesn't manage to scramble to his feet in time before the raider appears in the doorway.

The man has fresh, ugly burns on his arms – the Molotov-cocktail, probably – and stitches on his shaven skull that don't seem to heal well. His face is twisted in both fury and ecstasy; Levi curses himself for not taking chems into account.

He bares his teeth when the raider raises the gun.

“Little scum,” the man growls thickly, and Levi immediately hooks his foot behind his attacker's heel and jerks his leg – as soon as the raider sways, he smashes his other heel into the man's knee, breaking the cap. His first shot to the abdomen is nothing to be proud of, the second ends it.

Why people insist on talking while fighting, Levi will never understand. He's down to six, so everyone else is that blond's responsibility.

Levi barely has time to think that before the hot barrel of a freshly fired gun is pressed against the back of his head, singeing his hair.

“You think...” The voice is scorched, oozes the promise of pain, “- you're fucking clever...”

Outside, the laser musket fires another crackling shot, as if to scorn those words. At the same time, it lets Levi know that it's too far away for him to be of any help. Fair enough, for none of them ever spoke of assistance.

The raider behind him wants to kill him slowly, under excruciating agony, and Levi has been threatened with torture so often he's unable to react with fear. What can distress him and every other human is someone who doesn't speak of the things to come, so he just feels the tremble of barely contained desire to pull the trigger in the barrel against his head. But he doesn't say a word; no begging, no tears, but not even _words_ , that must sting.

A few tiles slide from the roof above them and noisily hit the former carport. Levi has neglected to count the times the musket fired, providing the blond man hits bull's eye with every shot, and that's overly optimistic.

The raider behind Levi exhales, and suddenly he's not sure the fury of a fight lost won't overpower the sadistic urges. He might die in this hallway, sitting on his ass. At least he's still armed, though.

A tall figure awkwardly drops from the roof to land in front of the open front door after probably climbing down from the rain gutter. The laser musket hangs from a strap around the neck, there are several cuts in the clothing where sharp tile shards tore it.

“Hey...” The voice behind Levi starts again, this time tinging with spitting hate, “I've got your f-”

The man reaches into his coat and yanks a dark oval from an inner pocket, pulls something small and thin off it. Levi's eyes latch onto it the moment it appears, feeling it's an explosive, and the blond fully intends to throw it into the hallway and kill both Levi and the raider.

If said raider doesn't shoot Levi first. There's no grudge, no fear, but if he's about to die now, Levi will do it fighting. The moment the musket man throws the grenade, Levi spins around and shoots the raider with the machine gun dropped by the man he's killed before.

Chems that temporarily raise perception have flaws, and one of those is the time-bonus a sharpened mind has to analyze a situation. One moment, the raider hates Levi enough to kill him in revenge before the grenade blows them both up. Then there is a time span he'd normally need to grasp the situation, and the hope that he might make it out alive and finish off his foes if he throws himself to the side in time.

Anyone who doesn't know his body as well as Levi and doesn't have his large combat experience is prone to making the wrong decision in this time frame, and when the raider drops his gun to protect his face and moves to jump, Levi knows he has him.

The machine gun rattles in his hands, the recoil bites into his left arm and throws him off balance, but the shower of bullets is merciless. It feels unnaturally slow to see them hit flesh, and then suddenly, reality snaps back into place when a fusion bullet whizzes above Levi and turns the face of the raider – painted, twisted with pain, a woman – into a flurry of sooty ash.

The headless body drops with metallic clangs. The sound seems to boom in the following silence, in the incredibly loud absence of an exploding grenade.

“That's all of them.”

The man moves down the hallway; Levi's mind automatically registers he's dragging a leg, although the disharmony in his step is hardly noticeable. The laser musket crackles with heat, another sound that seems loud, and leather creaks softly.

Levi becomes aware he's still sitting on the ground like some dumb fuck waiting to get pinched, so he rises as smoothly as he can manage, using the machine gun temporarily as a crutch. He tentatively rolls his shoulder again and thinks that the pain is getting better, although he can't even tell right now – adrenaline runs too hot to feel much.

“Shitty bastard,” he growls, then just can't help the grin spreading on his face. It feels as unfamiliar as speaking, maybe even more so, but his muscles remember the task. “Whatcha do?”

The man bents to pick up the oval thing he's flung and shows him: it's an egg-shaped remote control for the television. The antenna has been snapped off.

First Levi huffs, then he makes a dry, barking sound. He realizes it's a chuckle, and that understanding heightens the sound even more. It makes his beaten shoulder ache and his diaphragm seems to think he's suffocating or some shit and cramps in alarm, and that's fine, he's not going to make a habit out of this laughter-thing.

The man doesn't join in, but he comes close to a smirk: the corners of his mouth quirk and soothe the tension he emanates, even the glacier in his eyes thaws slightly.

Did he plan for this? When they arranged their positions and brief strategy, there was no word of taking the gamble with a faked grenade. Though if Levi had known it wasn't real, his reaction might have given it away and earned him a bullet in the head.

Speaking of which, he has _not_ been saved.

“Your kill.”

Levi has finished his half off by himself, and for some nonexistent reason, he wants to state that. Survival does odd things to the brain.

The man gestures at the pile of soot that has formerly been a human skull. Energy weapons and their intense heat have a nasty efficiency to assure their target is dead, and it sobers Levi a little. “I killed her.” That apparently settles his debt.

“Fuck you. _I_ did. Y'owe me.”

It's simply meant to piss him off a bit, because Levi can't win fights and then keep his mouth shut; it's a bad habit, one that's beaten into him, and now it's his way of celebrating survival. However, the man merely cocks his head and appears amused in his manner of hardly changing expressions.

“Where's your proof?”

This will go nowhere, obviously – Levi doesn't mind. He looks at his bloodied hands and wrinkles his nose at all that dirt clinging to him, _the true crown for a winner of the wastelands_ , as his brain dryly recites. Levi doesn't want to hear it, so he drowns it out.

“Where're you headed?”

It's not a question Levi usually asks. He gets it occasionally, and while he has no problem turning people down, he's made a habit of naming no specific place so nobody can tag along: reduces the indignation and saves him the hassle. It's not that he hates the company of others, and escorting caravans pays well and traders leave him alone when he makes clear that he doesn't want to socialize. Nonetheless, he doesn't ask for it himself, just agrees to offers sometime or other. Not often, especially since people have grown so wary of synths.

So he's surprised when the words leave his mouth, and he can tell the blond man didn't expect them either. But he's not stunned or anything, so he gets those offers, too – and now he stares down at Levi with a thoughtful expression. He's at least a head taller than Levi, above average even for most people here. It's odd to look up to him, but Levi dislikes the idea of acting inferior by avoiding eye-contact even more.

“Goodneighbor.”

The sparkling little town of criminals, ghouls and misfits. Levi hasn't been there in a long time, and he knows no one who would name Goodneighbor as a destination for travel, if only to avoid the distrustful glances the mention of that town earns.

Maybe it's that man's way of keeping people off his back.

“That shithole,” Levi hums before he has given it any thought. It's true that the town is your friendly summer camp for mobsters, but nobody asks questions there, and that's something Levi always appreciates.

“Scared?” the man retorts easily. He's crouched down to rifle through the ammo belt of his fallen opponent, finds it useless and tosses it aside.

Levi scoffs and ignores the strange feeling in the pit of his stomach that starts tickling there at the challenge in that single word. He can back out. He's never traveled with someone alone, always in a group where it's simple enough to keep his distance.

But he can leave anytime anyway. He's not _that_ nice.

“'m coming.”

Despite his agreement being nothing but lip service, it sinks into his mind like lead. He doesn't know this guy, he could be as psycho as any raider even without the paint, but Levi likes his fight and trusts his own strength to keep him unharmed; indulging a whim like this is unusual for him, and suddenly he wants just that.

The blond rises – the stiffness is definitely there, subtly – and regards Levi for a second with his unsettling eyes, then he steps over the corpse, casts his annoyingly long shadow over Levi and extends his hand. It's large and scratched, soot has collected in the small wrinkles and lines, making it seem much older. But the nails are short and, compared to Levi's bloody fingers, clean.

“I'm Erwin,” he says, his voice smooth when Levi isn't quite sure whether he can cough out his own two syllables of a name without getting a drink first.

He takes Erwin's hand, watches his grimy fingers disappear for a moment in an envelope of warm, dry skin; it's almost, _almost_ pleasant for the touch of a stranger.

“Levi.”

His voice is still that hoarse croak because the smoke lingering in the hallway scrapes on his throat. Levi withdraws his hand and realizes Erwin hasn't flinched at his dirty palm, which he finds both amusing and disappointing.

Erwin's brows arch a bit. “Leeway?”

His pronunciation hasn't been _that_ bad, has it? Levi isn't even unfamiliar with that word, he's heard it yelled over the rattling of metal fence and jeers.

“Go fuck yourself, _earwing_.”

His voice is starting to feel better as amusement tinges Erwin's unfriendly eyes a little warmer.

 

Erwin is a good traveling companion.

Levi grudgingly admits it after the first week. Erwin usually doesn't talk, and when he does, it's in the evening when they've found somewhere to camp and it's possible to lower one's guard to a reasonable degree. He's a quiet sleeper who never wakes Levi by tossing and turning when caught in a nightmare, and he has a discerning eye – if he fires his laser musket, he generally hits.

He always limps slightly, though it doesn't slow him down, and Levi doesn't ask about the cause.

Erwin is no good at cooking, but he doesn't question Levi's outright refusal to consider insect-meat as food or process it, even if it occasionally means going hungry. Instead, he's good at handicraft (Levi is just a little impressed by his mending on clothes and equipment), his stamina is sufficient and he's cleanly enough. He uses a _toothbrush_ , like, regularly. It's said that this hasn't been worth mentioning before the War, though these days, Levi sorely misses this matter of course.

It's harder to tell what he likes, though. He's not very interested in chems or caps, he hasn't made advances to Levi (not that it would have been wise to try) and he doesn't mention his goals. Erwin cleans and repairs weapons, but he doesn't do experiments, and he doesn't collect anything he doesn't need at the moment or in reserve.

Two or three times, when he thinks himself alone, Levi hears him hum the fragment of a song – he has no good ear for music, so he can only tell it's always the same tune. And since Erwin respects his privacy, Levi doesn't ask him; he's not that curious anyway.

There's one thing he really likes about Erwin, though: his shave.

Levi himself doesn't need to shave often, and when he does, it's more like rubbing a bit of black down from his upper lip and chin. Some crap about his genes and low growth he's never looked into, but one doesn't have to know about genetics to see that Erwin and Levi are very different.

Erwin usually shaves in the morning, unless the situation suggests caution – if he doesn't, there's blond stubble covering his jaw and throat in no time. He has a razor and a mirror, the latter is only used if he doesn't also have soap to use (he foregos it if he thinks the smell might give anything away, Levi has noticed).

The way he slowly, skillfully drags the sharp razor over his skin with just enough pressure to cut every hair does something to Levi. He doesn't know whether he merely enjoys the display of a ritual that's down to perfection – Erwin always uses the same strokes, then runs his fingertips over his wet skin and repeats a line every now and then before drying off. Levi has never seen him cut himself, even when the night has been restless and fingers might be unsteady from fatigue. He aches to run his fingers or even his lips over the freshly-shaven skin to feel for any remaining stubble, because he knows there is none.

He also wonders whether the shaving-mirror catches his reflection from time to time and hints to Erwin that he's watching intently. If the blond has sensed it, he doesn't let it show, and Levi can continue to admire his ritual.

The ritual, not the man. Levi doesn't doubt that because he can't remember admiring someone; he never stays with anyone for long enough.

Seventeen days after temporarily teaming up with Erwin, he does doubt himself.

The weather turns cranky after days of sunshine and moderate fall warmth – nothing dangerous, no clouds that have passed the Glowing Sea and have become irradiated, but a plain shitty storm with harsh, cold rain and whipping gusts of wind. It's not impossible to travel in, albeit they quickly agree to wait for it to pass. Leather gets heavy when soaked, and energy weapons give the occasional weak, yet painful electric shock when they are fired while wet.

Finding a place to hide inside an abandoned warehouse is not that hard, and it's even possible to light a fire without risking gas poisoning. The luxury of boredom, though, is given: unlike the deserted sheds and houses, there's nothing to kill time with. No old books or magazines, no radio, no board games and especially no terminal to play around with.

There's an old mattress they share – Erwin has made himself moderately comfortable on the foot of it while avoiding springs that threaten to pierce his ass, cross-legged with a spare pullover he's trying to mend. He's also found a radio plant that now sits beside him for later dissection.

Levi doesn't have much to busy himself with, and he's in no mood to search for something either. He's tired but not sleepy, so when he grows restless, he uses chems to relax. The crackling from inside the burning barrel and the patter of rain gradually merge and drown out the howling wind, calming him. He sets the package of Daytripper aside, letting Erwin choose whether he wants some or not, then closes his eyes. The chemical tinge is still under his tongue when Levi opens his mouth again. His voice has turned normal with frequent use, no longer scratching inside his throat but not that persevering either, since they don't talk a lot. Levi finds he wants to now.

Not clearly about what, however.

To his surprise, Erwin beats him to it.

“You don't like dogs, do you.”

If it didn't involve so much movement, Levi would turn around to look at his face. From his everyday behavior, it isn't too hard to deduce that he really hates insects and is disgusted by them – dogs are simply a random encounter that gets more frequent once one comes near a town. Since the gunfight in the weatherman's house, Levi remembers three of these encounters, one was merely a sighting that ended without any bloodshed.

“No,” he confirms flatly.

“They're useful when traveling alone.”

“You don't own one, either.”

Levi hears the rustle of Erwin's gear behind him when the man shrugs. “It's dangerous around here. Growing attached to something weak is inadvisable.”

Levi knows trained dogs aren't weak by any means, but he gets Erwin's logic. There is apparently a sense of responsibility in him, one he prioritizes over better security for himself. He obviously trusts himself to be fine either way, and that is something Levi can relate to.

“They were a part of the program in the Combat Zone... Still are, probably. Bandogs, mongrels, ferals, whatever bites. Give someone a machete and put him in a cage against a dog.” The memory is dark and clingy, he remembers the smell of piss and wet fur now. The chems keep it at arm's length, still he feels cold now.

“Sounds like an uneven fight.”

Levi snorts quietly, a cynical sound. “Depends on how long it's been since that dog was fed.”

“Ah.”

“It's not even their fault.” Levi draws his knees up to retrieve a bit of his own body warmth and picks at a loose thread on the seam of his pants. “Someone fucked them up. They try to tear you to shreds, but you can't even _blame_ them. They were the average litter of puppies and just had... really shitty luck.”

They are silent for minutes, which Levi is grateful for. He reins the ugly memories of snapping teeth in, of mad, pained eyes. The cold gradually fades, and Levi belatedly realizes he's leaned his back against Erwin's. The other is sitting just bent forward enough to create a comfortable curve to melt into, the height difference between them makes sure that Levi's head doesn't tip over his shoulder in an awkward angle. It's warm, too, slowly soaking into him like syrup into a pastry. Levi doesn't enjoy sweet things a lot, but he enjoys this.

Erwin doesn't move an inch. It seems like rejection at first, if one doesn't take into account that he isn't as polite or shy to freeze like that. Levi has a suspicion that lightly amuses him, and he tests it.

“Ever been to the Combat Zone?”

The tiny shiver of muscles he only feels because his back is pressed up against Erwin's confirms what he's thought: that the other assumed he was asleep, and now his voice has startled him.

“No.” Erwin cuts a thread and examines the cloth for other tears. “I heard it burned down a few years ago.”

Levi grins at the thought and stretches one leg out, now that he's warm again. His head is resting against the rail of bone of Erwin's shoulder blade, and he slides a bit closer to lean it into the dip of the spine.

“Only the arena.”

“Down to the foundations.”

“Tragic, isn't it?”

“Very.” Having found nothing else to mend, Erwin rolls the piece of clothing up and sets it aside to inspect the radio plant. Levi feels the strong chords of his muscles shift, his hazy mind admires the strange perspective.

“I hate these... cramped spaces. Houses lining up. Reminds me of that place.”

Erwin is quiet for a few seconds, though Levi cannot guess whether he's absorbed with the gadget or thinking about his words.

“I'll buy you a drink when we've entered Goodneighbor, then.”

Levi feels himself grin again – it's the drugs, but not only them, it seems. Erwin's dry humor is subtle, especially since his face mostly remains impassive, but Levi likes it. Likes the absence of pity, too.

“I don't get drunk.”

“ _One_ drink.”

“Just making sure you won't be disappointed.”

“That's only human.” The way Erwin says it sounds offhand, and Levi isn't even tempted to feel uneasy. He hasn't ever asked Erwin about synths; it's useless anyway, and still people do it and expect an honest answer.

Levi exhales, the weightless feeling envelops his body as his thoughts drift by; he doesn't try to hold onto them. One of them lazily floats up and he considers it, then calmly realizes that he's told Erwin things about his past, but the other has remained as elusive as ever.

“What's with that tune of yours?”

Although it's not a complex question, Erwin reacts delayed, almost distracted. “Hm?”

“That tune. You keep humming it.”

That certainly is an exaggeration, and Levi's ear for music really is too poor to repeat the melody – albeit he'd recognize it upon hearing, and he wouldn't mind that. The slight vibration of Erwin's voice is nice, and Levi idly wonders how something as subtle as humming might feel.

Unfortunately, Erwin misses the point. “Sorry about that.”

He has that habit of occasionally apologizing – probably something about better manners Levi happily admits he isn't well versed in – even though he knows Levi doesn't care for it. It's also his way of closing a topic without being openly rude, one he rarely uses on Levi and more often on nosy caravan traders.

“Just tell me,” Levi grumbles; at least he's meant to, it sounds more like a purr.

Erwin is silent for twenty-something seconds. Levi can tell he's no longer fiddling with the radio plant, but that's all there is to it: Erwin's body language is as impassive as his face. And right now, Levi doesn't want to analyze him.

“An annoyingly catchy tune about a place that doesn't exist. It's not even mythical, merely... an invention of pop culture back then.”

Since 'back then' dates back about 200 years, it's probably mythical anyway. Levi snorts and tilts his head back a little to stare at the corrugated steel ceiling of the warehouse, whose colors seem to brighten if he looks closely. “That's your thing?”

“It's simply catchy.”

Levi knows better than to correct him, he lets Erwin believe he buys that with a low whistle.

“Do you know where the Caribbean is?” the blond asks him. Again, he acts like it's plausible Levi would know – as if he wasn't talking to a scavenger on a chem high who doesn't take interest in anything before the war and doesn't read a lot. Like during their first meeting, only that Erwin has to have realized by now that Levi gives a crap about continuing education.

It's pesky yet strangely disarming. Levi doesn't think anyone has ever considered him capable of... more than the eye can see.

“No.”

And that shitty lack of bias makes it impossible to add the snide remark Levi would have made to everyone else.

“Florida?”

“Well, yeah.” Way, _way_ down the coast, and Levi has never been interested in taking that direction, but he knows where it is.

“That's where Kokomo is, apparently.”

“What now, Florida or Carrybean?”

“Since it doesn't exist, it boils down to the same thing.” Erwin sounds as serious as ever, but Levi elbows him for good measure.

“I wanna hear it.” The words are out before he has quite realized their meaning. He knows tales of 'better' places, without radiation and mutants and all the shit the War has left behind, but they've never appealed to him – what's the use in whining? Whatever Kokomo is should be irrelevant, though Levi can't help feeling a little curious about that place where Erwin would like to go. Where his escapism leads him on a rainy day like this one.

It's the moment he doubts whether he's really just intrigued by Erwin's precision or maybe a little by the man himself.

“It won't be hard to find a jukebox that can play it in the next town. If you still want.”

Levi blinks and lets his eyes drift shut again. The warmth seeping into his back makes him sleepy and boneless, the drug in his bloodstream adds a silky feeling to everything, even the worn mattress he's sitting on.

“Remember to buy me that drink.”

“In every town we enter?”

“Yeah.” His own voice seems to come from somewhere afar, barely above a whisper. He's on the verge of sleep, so he doesn't remember why Erwin promised him a drink, only that they didn't agree on one in every town.

“Fine.”

There's an echo of crackling fire and Erwin's low murmur as Levi falls asleep.

 

When Levi wakes, it's dark outside and around him. The wood inside the burning barrel has been reduced to a few glowing embers, as he can tell by the faint, orange light, but besides that, it's black. Levi listens instinctively while his eyes adjust; there's still the patter of rain, the wind has quieted down now. The storm is over.

There is the soft sound of breathing somewhere nearby, and Levi stiffens – then remembers it's Erwin.

If Levi were still traveling alone, he would set out now: he's slept for a reasonable while, the weather has calmed, and he has a visor with night vision, so his sharp senses would keep him as safe as possible in the wastelands.

Even now, he can wake Erwin and tell him that they're taking off. It's a habit, an act of necessity to stay for short intervals in one place, keep moving to avoid the risk. Make sure to not get careless. Levi blinks to accustom his eyes to the darkness faster ans stretches his muscles. They feel stiff, and he slowly sits up to flex them.

His eyes can make out contours now, a spring in the mattress makes a nasty twinge into the hollow of his knee. His mind is still fuzzy from the chem, and perhaps he blames the thoughts entering his mind on that.

Erwin lies with his back to him, the way they always sleep. He has stretched out beside the mattress, either to leave Levi with more space or simply to evade those springs; the tinge of warm light from the burning barrel makes his hair seem golden. His coat is draped over him, the pullover he's mended before propped under his head and his hand beneath it, legs straight. He always sleeps in the same position and rarely moves, like a... machine out of action?

Levi rises onto his knees; the springs creak, but Erwin doesn't stir – once he's asleep, he's hard to wake, apparently a reason he has sought out sheltered places before he teamed up with Levi. His breathing stays low and even.

Without another sound, Levi takes off his coat and boots, then realizes he's doing something that obviously doesn't lead to departure.

Nonetheless, he leaves the mattress and the warm spot he has slept on. His heartbeat feels slow and heavy as he moves a few steps and lies down on the hard wooden ground, his back to Erwin. He inches closer and waits for his senses to be alarmed – they never sleep close enough to touch, it would alert their subliminal vigilance.

But nothing unsettles him when his back touches Erwin's chest. He feels the rise and fall of breath – and rolls a little closer. His hip bumps against the wrist of Erwin's other hand, the one that rests on his belt, covered by the coat. It slides down another few inches, then stays trapped between them.

Levi waits for minutes. His cheeks burn and his head is foggy. Erwin is sound asleep, doesn't even move his hand back to his belt.

Levi reaches behind himself to take his wrist from between them and slowly, as if it might shatter or something, places it on his own side. Erwin's fingers, dusted with tiny bits of hair at the backs, loosely hover over his stomach, lightly touching it. His arm is heavier than Levi thought it would be, still weight and warm, his fingers are calloused. Deadly fingers that pull a trigger, span tripwires. An arm with enough muscle power to break a neck.

Levi finds he doesn't hate it.

Some of the warmth penned under the coat spreads to him. He hasn't let go of Erwin's wrist yet, unsure whether he wants to. It's an odd position, one that could not have happened by accident, and it's unfamiliar to be shielded by another body like this. Or more precisely, a person he trusts to a certain degree.

Hours ago, he's allowed himself to be weak, but he doesn't _feel_ weak. Just... a little softer than usual. It's better not to dwell on why that is.

The ground is hard and uncomfortable, which is something Levi is used to. To his surprise, his eyes drift shut again – he snaps them open again out of habit, listens to Erwin's unchanging breathing. How that fucker can sleep so deeply in this hellhole is beyond him...

Levi gingerly lets go of Erwin's wrist. It now rests just below his ribs and the tips brush Levi's stomach when he breathes in; limp, not holding or restraining him.

He supposes he can wait for daylight. And even though Levi really means to wait, he simply goes back to sleep.

 

Erwin is too clumsy to get up without waking him.

He's probably quiet by normal standards, but Levi is awake the moment he feels the man behind him stir and shift his weight. He keeps his eyes shut nonetheless and listens: his head is clear again, and yet he's reluctant to face Erwin's startled expression and explain shit he can't really comprehend anyway.

The hand on his side disappears and leaves a cold spot, its elbow lightly brushes Levi's shoulder blade as Erwin rubs sand from his eyes. The other arm wiggles a little to get circulation going properly; the only movement for long seconds before Erwin props himself up on one elbow. Levi feels his piercing stare and doesn't twitch.

Then Erwin sits up and pulls his boots on. The warm, heavy fabric of his coat glides over Levi, covering him just randomly enough to make it unclear whether it landed there on purpose. Aside from the fact that Erwin has left it there at all while he gets up and exits the warehouse.

Levi gives him a few minutes to probably relieve himself and do whatever else before he sits up and shrugs the coat off. He's hungry and a bit light-sensitive – side-effects from the Daytripper – and the shoulder he's been sleeping on hurts from constant pressure. He's strangely well-rested, though: he can't remember the last time he's slept for so long.

His sharp ears pick up the splashing of water inside a metal container; a bucket or something. The rain has provided clean water, and Erwin likely uses some to shave now. He usually starts his routine like that, and Levi has no difficulties following the sounds. He has taken the coat with him, and a part of him wants to inspect the pockets and hems. It's made of a military fiber and fits Erwin well, could be tailored, and the weight alone tells that there are secrets hidden.

Erwin glances at Levi when he emerges, then goes back to his neat, calm lines that he follows with his razor. He's using soap today, the razor almost caresses the resolute curve of his jaw. The skin he's already cleared is smooth and glistens with moisture.

Levi watches – there's no pretending he's not. He watches until Erwin lowers the razor and feels for any missed patches of stubble with his fingertips, and finding none, he washes the soap from the blade and his face. He dries the razor with his sleeve and then rubs the fabric over his face to suck up the droplets of water.

Levi smirks very briefly and steps closer. He sees the way Erwin's bright blue eyes catch his motions as the man wipes his hands on his pants. Since he's sitting, Levi can look down at him now, fleeting as it might be.

He drops the coat in Erwin's lap and doesn't bother to hide his smugness.

“You forgot that.”

Then he turns back to the warehouse to get his toothbrush.

 

Erwin keeps the promise forced on him and buys him a drink in the next town they enter.

Levi would have preferred to avoid the detour, but Erwin has business there – he doesn't explain, Levi doesn't ask – and if he is already passing the ruins of a bigger city, sleeping under a real roof isn't too bad. Plus, towns have bathhouses. And Levi likes those a lot.

Erwin wants to go about his business first, but Levi glares at him over the rim of his beer glass. “If I'm going to sleep in the same room as you, you'll go in there. We're just deciding whether you go naked or I'll toss you in with your clothes on.”

Erwin raises his eyebrows the fraction of a millimeter. Levi stares back, and the many noises of the small market place seem to grow a little fainter.

Their sleeping arrangement has returned to the way it was, as if that one time five nights ago hadn't changed a thing. Levi hasn't slept in a sitting position since then, something he occasionally does if he's wary. They haven't spoken about it. In Levi's opinion, he's saying everything necessary.

Either Erwin gets it, or he relents – either way, he shrugs and reverts his attention to his drink. There's something going on behind the unfriendly blue of his eyes, but it's hard to tell what exactly: Levi is good with body language, though not as good with faces. In the wastelands, where gas masks and sack hoods are nothing unusual and people use robots without human appearance, it's the better choice.

He still wonders what Erwin thinks now. He doesn't say anything – it's not something Levi does, really.

Bathhouses are common in places where some kind of electricity is installed and a sufficient amount of filtrated water can be stored: in short, swimming pools. Levi can't really believe the long, canopied basins have ever been filled with heated, chlorinated water in a time before the War, and it's enough that there are bathtubs and barrels for rent now. Once you pay the fee, water gets poured in with a large hose, and when you're done, you pull the plug and the water drains off through the grates on the pool's floor.

Since the water cools quickly, nobody stays that long.

Levi always does two bouts, one to scrub the grime from his body, one to rinse it off with clean water. The water's temperature doesn't bother him because it's necessary, but the steam clouding the bathhouse today promises a pleasant stay.

Erwin doesn't seem too happy with the moisture even as he wraps his laser musket in plastic tarp the bathhouse offers as an additional service. There's one bag for the weapons and one for clothes.

Levi doesn't stare, albeit he _is_ curious. And Erwin doesn't seem to care, he stashes his belongings and heads for the bath like someone performing a duty.

There is an ugly, jagged scar from his ankle to the middle of his shin; the tissue has been damaged so deeply that Levi can see the indentation in the muscle of Erwin's calf, and it's obviously the reason he's limping.

Levi has seen enough wounds for three lives, and he can guess this scar has been caused by a spring trap, one fortified with concealed barbwire, judging by the length of the jagged edges. It's a vicious trap, and one placed with care.

He also notices that this is Erwin's only large scar – compared to the collection Levi has gathered on his own body, he's rather... unscathed. If it weren't for his slight limp, Levi wouldn't have thought he had any old wounds at all; and Erwin apparently prefers it that way, because that scar demands a permanent effort to move fluently. Erwin is good at concealing it, only that Levi has seen him exhausted, when the limp becomes more prominent, and has an eye for weakness.

His curiosity satisfied, Levi climbs into a barrel – he prefers those since the smaller surface doesn't let the water cool as quickly, and considering his frame, this shape is more practicable anyway.

They have relative privacy around noon, and Levi allows himself to be absorbed in the feeling of scrubbing his skin clean, _knowing_ he's rid of dirt, skin fat, scabs, anything he's keenly aware of after a day-

“Thank you for not asking.”

Erwin's voice echoes from the tiles of the former pool around them; water splashes as he scoops some up between his hands and lets it flow down the nape of his neck.

Levi isn't good with people, but he can tell Erwin wants him to leave it at that. He's got a feeling Erwin means the scar on his ankle, though he's not as sure which question he was expecting. Or rather, why he feels uncomfortable to dodge it in his usual way.

So Levi shrugs and dunks his head to vigorously rub his fingertips over his scalp, making sure the soap reaches everywhere. Someone thanking him for insignificant shit like that, especially someone as reserved as Erwin, feels... weird.

“I just don't wanna know,” he replies – it sounds lame in his own ears. He glances at Erwin and sees him splash more water over the broad curves of his muscular back. His skin is pale and marred by nothing, not even birthmarks or freckles. Almost too perfect.

Almost synthetic.

Erwin glances at him. When wet, his hair turns darker and browner like wild honey. The pink of his cheeks in the warm steam and the strands of hair plastered across his forehead do nothing to soften the slicing expression of his eyes. “I'm lucky, then.”

Levi scoffs and runs a hand up his side to rub soap into his armpit. “Like a fucking pixie, yeah.”

They're quiet until Levi pulls the plug and climbs out of the barrel so he can rinse the soap and dirt off in the second. The water is cooler there and raises goosebumps on his arms, but he feels a lot more comfortable now.

“Dirt. Insects. Constrictions. Canines. Your life could be difficult.” Erwin's voice is cool and neutral, as if he were stating a common fact. It ignites a spark of anger in the back of Levi's mind; he tries to smother it before it ruins his mood. “So what?”

Erwin is a lot better with words than he is – he doesn't accidentally provoke, he calculates the effects before he speaks. Levi has observed that much when Erwin talks to someone, but he can't always pinpoint his intentions.

Erwin regards him with a pensive expression, and Levi isn't sure if he's doing this now on purpose, when neither of them has weapons and they maintain a relative distance. Despite himself, he feels tension rising in his muscles.

There's the clattering of steps as more people enter the bathhouse, their voices behind the partition are loud and cheerful as men and women banter over the separation. Levi is only distracted for the fraction of a second, but when he turns back to Erwin, the man has returned to his usual grim facade.

Levi climbs out of the barrel, unwilling to wait whether there's anything to come – and irritated for no reason he could name.

 

Erwin doesn't return to their hideout inside an abandoned bookstore that night.

There has never been an agreement to stick together when camping in relative safety, and Erwin has already stated that he has business to do, so it's not even unexpected he's gone. He has left some of his stuff (it's not regarded as good manners to bring visible weapons into a meeting, even when everyone knows you're armed), so it's not like he ran. But his absence does feel odd, and Levi doesn't feel comfortable between shelves full of moldy books from some other era, so he seeks out a place less... dead.

A perk of settlements is different food: Levi isn't a picky eater, but after putting up with Erwin's habit of nearly-burnt vegetables, anything else smells very appealing. There is a booth in an old diner that serves edible noodles with some kind of sauce the cook claims is peanut-gourd-chutney. Levi doesn't know what the fuck chutney is, it sounds kind of violent.

When you're a traveler and don't look too bloodthirsty, people talk to you. Levi isn't too keen on that, but it's bearable – especially once one of the caravan-guides finds out Levi comes from the direction he wants to take and pays for a few rounds if Levi tells him what he's seen. It's a common deal and a harmless way to squeeze out a little extra information, though Levi doubts anyone could get drunk on beverages as watered-down as these. And he definitely can't.

It's dark when he slips out of the diner to take a piss and generally disappear from these people; there's that moment when they begin to feel at ease, even comradely, and Levi avoids that. He doesn't want to grow close to them, doesn't want to wonder whether they are still alive and how they're doing and which names they'll give their children. Once they're out of sight, it's better to consider them lost.

The tall, weathered buildings with broken window glass and dark mouths tower over Levi. Wind whines inside those empty structures, and he feels like he's walking through a giant cemetery. The crumbling asphalt is like scarred tissue beneath his feet, even the starry night sky seems sickly in here.

The sound of footsteps reminds Levi he isn't far enough from the populated area to be left alone – as effortlessly as he finds his way through the wastelands, the deserted towns confuse him. Levi scans the faded road signs and tries to remember the name of the bookstore; then remembers this city was once so big that the streets themselves were named. Strange.

“Wait.”

The sound of a familiar voice – the only voice that's actually familiar to him – startles Levi, and he turns to face it. It's coming from the uninhabited part of town, though that's only judged by the noises.

Erwin has stood still, as if he hasn't been sure Levi would actually obey. Then he sets into motion to catch up, his long legs covering the distance in an unhurried, but determined stride. The few neon lights of the settlement only graze his back, casting an unflattering, greenish glow on his blond hair. His steps are loud in Levi's ears because they echo between the terrace fronts.

They have split up, but he hasn't wondered whether Erwin is lost. Or dead. His death doesn't feel likely.

Levi is about to continue his way down the street (the bookstore has to be somewhere close to the park square) when he feels a light tap on his shoulder. Since he knows who it is, Levi turns his head slightly so he can look at Erwin from the corner of his eye.

The hand that's tapped his shoulder suddenly lands back there and expands Levi's minimal turn, pushes him to face Erwin. Then there is the rough press of chapped lips on his that makes Levi stop abruptly.

The touch doesn't last longer than half a second and can't be called gentle – a kiss in the wastelands is a hit-and-run attack, something that's withdrawn before the inevitable backlash comes. As impersonal as a caress can be.

Levi, who has thought a minute ago how he doesn't want to get attached to anybody, all at once feels angry at this fleetingness. He glares as Erwin lets go of his shoulder, the tip of his tongue ghosts over his upper lip: it tastes like smoke and a tinge of alcohol, though Erwin apparently isn't drunk and entirely himself.

Which makes this all the more irritating.

“That the best you can do?” Levi hisses, brows drawn together in an angry scowl, mouth tense, fists balled. It's not an inviting sight, he's aware. Anyone would guess that an unwise move will cause a fight.

But Levi knows since their second encounter that Erwin isn't necessary disinclined to fight.

The fucker actually dips his head – he's just _that_ tall, isn't he – as his hands dart out to catch Levi's; it's a fight after all. Levi lets him get hold of one wrist (at least he tells himself he does) and jerks the other out of reach, relishing the powerful grip as they kiss again. Levi burrows his fingers in the lapel of Erwin's coat and scrapes his teeth over the whisper of stubble in the corner of his mouth. He doesn't know where Erwin's free hand is until he feels cold fingers in the nape of his neck, running over the short hair as if petting a potentially snappish animal.

Levi yanks at the lapel, but Erwin doesn't bow any lower, forcing him to rise on his toes if Levi means to deepen the kiss. Levi hates it, he even hates it enough to obey before he's fully realized it, leans against Erwin for balance and moves his lips against his.

His voice was hoarse when they first spoke, and it seems like he's gotten rusty with other uses of his mouth as well – everything he does seems too slow, clumsy even. But if Erwin minds, he doesn't show it, and the hand holding Levi's wrist is starting to loosen its grip.

Levi drops back onto the full soles of his feet and takes a quick breath; his heart beats unreasonably fast and his spine tingles. There is a solid chunk of heat in his belly, and when he hears the tiny sound Erwin makes as he clears his throat, he throws an arm around his neck and does it again – that kissing-thing he hasn't done for so long and quickly gets better at again.

Levi swipes his tongue over Erwin's stubborn lips and goes rigid when he realizes the man has let go of his wrist and wrapped his arms around his middle. If he tightens his grip now, he can crush Levi's ribcage in a deadlock; his muscles feel hard and tense, like he's about to do just that. The thought thrills Levi in an unhealthy way, he's sure. His free hand shoots out to grab the side of Erwin's neck, the cords of muscle shift again under his touch – then he crushes Levi against his body once his fingertips reach surprisingly coarse blond hair. Levi gasps in return, shallow electricity seems to fill his mouth as his tongue slides against Erwin's-

“Gedda room, ya two!”

Levi immediately freezes, adrenaline lights his nerves and his blunt nails dig into the skin of Erwin's neck as the slurring voice echoes across the street. His temper flares before he's quite grasped it.

Some old guy at a bar he visited a couple of times once rambled about some other old guy from before the War who said that humans have only two mainsprings: to destroy or to fuck. Levi doesn't care for science or psychology, but right that moment, he feels like the scales tilt from one desire to the other.

He roughly breaks away from Erwin and scans the area for the speaker. Although there are several yards between Levi and the slightly swaying figure in front of the junk fence, his ears pick up the scrunching of boots on asphalt when the wearer backs off, sensing the threat on some level.

“Hey...” he starts and raises his hands as Levi turns his way. “Hey.”

Levi is half-prepared to shake off Erwin's appeasing hand, ignore his words, but neither comes. Between the options to look back to him or follow his original intention, Levi chooses the first out of obstinacy and pretends he doesn't hear the steps continuing down the street, deeper into the abandoned district.

Fucker knows how to kill a mood. Levi glowers at the man who's halfway through the junk gate anyway, then shoves his fists into his pockets.

He's trying to hold onto the anger, really. But all in all, it hasn't been a bad evening. Levi wonders whether it's as good as it gets.

 

It takes a shitty long time to find the bookstore again, and when Levi climbs the stairs, the splintered floor makes sounds like it's about to collapse – it's one way of using an alarm system, but one of these days, this handy tool will backfire. Levi prefers the wilderness.

He steps over a tripwire he installed himself and moves along creaking floorboards while he sheds his coat and boots. The backroom of the bookstore in the second floor is dark, even for Levi's eyes, and he takes a moment to adjust; even then, he can hear Erwin's quiet breathing.

He's not even surprised – Erwin isn't one to wait up.

Although Levi has meant to sleep on the couch and the relative softness of old cushions, he relinquishes it to curl under Erwin's arm; all that dust would have made him sneeze anyway, it's not that he _wants_ to stay next to him.

Erwin's hand twitches lightly when Levi moves it to his side, then settles just above the crest of his hip. It's as intimate as it can get for people who have learned as much distrust as they have, and it's barely peaceful enough to still consider closing his eyes.

Until Erwin breathes a sleepy sigh into his hair.

“Troublemaker.”

Levi elbows him hard, but he grins.

 

Boston is as shabby as the rest of this land. And it's got water everywhere: the sea and all those rivers, the air still reeks of dead fish around there even though the harbors are given up. Levi imagines the smell clinging to his skin and clothes and immediately falls into a poisonous mood – he's half tempted to stay out of the city by then, but the fresh water has attracted all sorts of bugs and flies and he _hates_ those, why is he here again?

Ah, yes. Boston is where Goodneighbor is located, and Erwin is headed there. And Levi is stupidly tempted to stick with him, his scathing blue eyes and the heavy arm draped over his side.

They sleep like that more often than not. Erwin never asks him to come, never shows disappointment or offense when Levi chooses to sleep apart from him or in a sitting position. He's careful to maintain their personal distance, and Levi could be fooled that he doesn't get anything out of it if his instincts didn't tell him otherwise. He doesn't know how Erwin expresses his longing yet, he just senses it somewhere.

So he follows him into that huge city that doesn't appeal him at all.

This is a lot different from the small settlements in deserted towns – Levi feels eyes on him all the time, hears distant gunshots from one direction or the other. Fights are settled directly on the streets and usually end with someone knifed. As long as you don't attack anyone else, the Neighborhood Watch don't care, as if they trust you to have a reason for violence.

Erwin seems more relaxed in this ugly cauldron than Levi knows him to be.

They split up at noon: Erwin heads for whatever motivated him to come here and Levi uses his time to browse the shops and exchange a few pieces of merchandise he's picked up for ammunition. He also quickly finds out that if you carry a weapon and don't talk more than you need to, you are regarded as a potential mercenary here – as seedy as the offers are, the prices most of them are willing pay are serious even without negotiation. There's probably more in it for someone who can negotiate, and it's easy work if you know your business.

Levi is almost tempted, but he's reluctant to do other people's dirty work – and it's dirty in every sense of the word. He'll have to ask Erwin later who in this dump has bought his contract.

At least he assumes that's why Erwin is here at all.

The air is cold and foggy by the time evening comes, and Levi loses his way again – shitty huge towns with too many streets stuffed with rusting, broken cars, overthrown power poles and a general mass of garbage – so he's somewhat late for meeting Erwin at a bar. Or _the_ bar, as even Levi has heard of the Third Rail before. If a robot serves the drinks, at least it can't spit in your glass.

He shakes off moisture as he enters the cellar of a building that reeks of cigarette smoke and moonshine. The fog in here indeed consists of smoke, heavy with all kinds of fragrances that are not purely burning tobacco, and on the small stage, the chanteuse and her band work through a mellow bit of jazz. Levi hears the clatter of dices, someone shuffles cards with great flourish in the corner of his vision, doubtlessly slipping a few marked ones into the deck.

A thick note of perfume floats by Levi as a woman walks past him to one of the backrooms, shooting him a coy glance that goes well with the sway of her hips – he slightly tilts his head in a greeting nod, but doesn't follow her. Levi doesn't care for manners that much, though he makes exceptions; being polite to prostitutes is one of them.

Erwin is already there, idly stirring his drink while he watches one of the musicians drag the bow over some kind of big stringed instrument. He stills his hand when Levi climbs onto the stool beside him and begins to take off his moist coat.

“This place stinks,” Levi grumbles and ignores the glare from the globular robot. “What are you doing here again?”

If Erwin hears the barely concealed question, he ignores it. “It's a memorable place.”

Levi beckons for the barkeeper, though the rotten tin can takes its sweet time coming over. “Yeah, and?”

Erwin takes the spoon from his glass. “I like it.”

“Where are you gonna go now?”

“Hotel Rexford. It's safer than finding a hideout somewhere in the city.”

At this point, Levi simply glowers at him, snatches Erwin's glass away and downs the reddish-brown liquid; it burns in the back of his throat and stings on his tongue, but the taste isn't half bad. Levi sets it back on the counter with an audible bang and a brief flash of his teeth. “In case that was distracting you,” he adds pointedly.

Erwin's lips quirk slightly, and for a thin moment, Levi's heartbeat seems to drown out the music in the bar.

Without a word, the robot whizzes past and places a new glass on the counter, filled with the same liquid. It's odd for a stranger to be served without immediate payment in a place like this, but perhaps Erwin is no stranger here.

“I haven't decided yet,” the blond says as he stirs the drink again; he sounds honest, whatever that means for him. “I need to clarify a few things first.”

The singer falls quiet and most of the guests clap, some cheer. The noise seems to leave room for Levi to think, and Erwin doesn't pressure him, he never does. He just sips his drink and watches the band again. The saxophone draws out a long, tearful note.

“Can't figure you out,” Levi says; it's like an accusation. “What kind of shit show are you getting tickets for?”

This time Erwin smiles at him: it's still subtle and with his perpetual grim note, but it's definitely there.

“I evaluate things. That's what I get paid for.”

People don't evaluate _things_ with a laser musket, that's just bullshit – and yet it sounds plausible coming from Erwin, maybe he wants to believe him or doesn't care enough. Levi wanted an answer and got one.

The barkeeper-robot floats to their end of the counter with a hiss of its injector and turns an impatient external eye towards Levi. The bowler hat on his round corpus doesn't dilute its gruff appearance. “You ordering now or what?!”

For some reason, the rudeness in the tinny male voice makes Levi feel more at ease. He cocks his head towards Erwin. “What he's having. Double.” He has the silly desire to exploit Erwin's promise, and the robot doesn't bat a mechanical eyelid over it, simply drifts away to mix whiskey with an unlabeled liquid and something that suspiciously looks like maple syrup.

“How long will you stay in town?”

Erwin stirs his drink again, the spoon clinks against the glass. Then he takes it out and places it in an ashtray. “A few days.”

That's longer than Levi would like; he can't stand this city, he feels tense around here. So he's surprised when Erwin asks: “Will you be around for that long?”

It catches Levi off guard – he blinks, then the robot slams his drink down in front of him without spilling a drop and turns away, buying him time. He notices again how the robot doesn't charge Erwin at once.

“If you make it worth my while,” Levi replies, his demure tone mixing with the jolt of electricity at his own words.

Erwin considers this, neutral expression set, as if it could also be regular payment Levi demands. He doesn't take anything lightly, not even flirting, and it makes Levi dizzy for a moment; the way alcohol makes others feel, probably.

“Alright,” he says, all serious taciturnity.

Levi grins in response. Warmth pools in his stomach and sparks something inside his mind, prickles along his spine. It's not too different from the tautness of laying still and aiming at a target.

“... about you, short stuff, you up to it?”

Amendable to the laws of nature, Levi gets challenged to a drinking game in every other bar – it's his height, combined with the quality of his equipment, and it seems to promise an easy victory with nice gains. Not his fault that looks are deceptive.

Levi turns towards the speaker, one of many hoodlums around here with trench coat, fedora and a pistol somewhere under that attire and opens his mouth for a less than polite decline – then changes his mind and shrugs. “I'm game.”

He's in no hurry and wants Erwin to know, though the tiny flicker of surprise amuses him when he takes his coat off the stool and holds it out to the blond. “Hang onto that for me.”

Erwin takes it, his fingers ghosting over a frayed seam as if noting to stitch it later; his eyes are cool and smooth in the smoke-filled air, crinkle slightly at the corners.

“Remember to buy me a drink from your winnings,” he commands softly and the hoodlum who's invited Levi over laughs, obviously appreciating that much confidence. Levi does, too. “Just place your bet on me, I'll win.”

Erwin lightly tilts his head while he rolls Levi's coat up and turns on his stool so he can lean his back against the bar and watch the game. There's the hint of a smirk lingering in the corners of his eyes. “Where would be the fun in that.”

Levi flips him off for his arrogance and sets out to correct nature's laws.

 

Levi wins. It takes longer than usual because Goodneighbor is full of people who can hold their liquor, but that doesn't mean a thing against someone who isn't affected at all.

He has learned, though, that he has to put up an act lest someone suspects foul play and gets violent – so there is the slur in his speech, the slight sway when he stands up. Levi doesn't participate in this kind of competition often because it's an unfair game and not that entertaining, unless he wants to make a point. Which he does, now.

The Third Rail has no clocks, and since it's underground, no windows either, but Levi gauges it's somewhere around two or three in the morning when the barkeeper-robot bellows that Levi has won and anyone who spills anything on the rug will be flambéed through the rear passage.

It's the jukebox that plays music now, and Levi has a feeling that it should remind him on something he can't really place right now. He frowns thoughtfully – his memory probably gut fuzzy from all those off-label ingredients in the drinks here – as the robot hands him his caps and some other stuff the guests have bet against him. Junk, mostly, he can either sell it or pass it to Erwin: for the sake of his act, he does the latter now and wonders whether anyone would notice if he takes the stairs without a stumble.

Probably.

“That was impressive.”

It's hard to tell if the hint of red on Erwin's high cheekbones comes from alcohol or the stuffy warmth in the bar, but the gleam of amusement is definitely there as he takes the pouch thrust at him and unrolls Levi's coat.

Who's pretty sure nobody ever offered to help him with his coat – not that he ever needed it, it's... odd manners. Since he's supposed to be drunk, Levi rolls his eyes and turns around to slip his arms into the sleeves. “Don' get cocky.”

“You've said.”

Levi squints at the jukebox, past some couples still swaying to the warped music. “I didn' ask'a to dance, did I?”

He might not get technically drunk, but he tends to get odd ideas then; maybe it's the mood that rubs off on him. Erwin snorts quietly and takes his arm to lead him out, his fingers nearly reaching around Levi's biceps. “Thankfully, no.”

Levi purposely staggers at that and digs his heel into the cap of Erwin's boot, suppressing a snicker at the short inhale of either surprise or pain or both. The music gets quieter as they reach the stairs, the air is marginally fresher, and Levi feels out of sorts, though not in a bad way.

He wonders whether he would mind if Erwin put his arm around his shoulders instead. Probably, since it would restrict his movement, but as long as he's playing drunk, he just doesn't care about that. Around Erwin, he still feels like he could be... soft.

It's irritating. So much that he leans against Erwin for a moment once he sets his foot on the first stair, feels the heat coming off him soak through his side. In turn, Erwin quickens his stride slightly, yet it makes a difference with legs as long as his. The red glow of the signs for the fire exit deepen every shadow the closer they get to the head of the stairs. Levi is looking forward to some fresh, cool air, so he actually stumbles a little when he's pulled to the side instead, behind a line of vending machines on a long corridor with faded red carpet and dusty lusters.

Erwin kisses him there, one hand buried so tightly in Levi's hair that he couldn't have moved much if he'd tried. The kiss tastes like whiskey and syrup, and Levi digs his hands into his sides and presses up to him.

They part again, and Levi grins, catching his bottom lip under one canine tooth. “Seems like you're drunker than me,” he teases. “Were you bored?”

He drops the slur since they are presumably alone, feels Erwin's grip loosen, but not let go. He's in no hurry to be let go anyway.

“Not at all.” Erwin's voice is a bit rougher than usual, although that might come from hours of breathing smoky air. Levi knows how likely that is. “Watching you fight is... something.”

Levi scoffs and gives Erwin's collar a sharp tug. He wants another kiss, but he hates to ask. “Wasn't a fight.”

“I missed something in the Combat Zone then.”

It's a harmless remark since Levi has told him about his past; and even so, it suddenly raises his anger, the memory of the metal cages and screaming audience drowns the lightness he has felt a second ago. Comparing a drinking contest to a brutal match that carelessly risks lives is... tasteless.

He shoves Erwin away and closes his coat, brows drawn together in irritation. “Shit happens,” he snaps. “I'll get some air.”

It's not like Levi expects Erwin to follow; he knows by now that both of them dislike chasing after anything. His scowl deepens when the silhouette in the corner of his eye doesn't disappear, annoyingly unfazed, as if Levi hadn't been _clear_ about wanting to be alone.

But either Erwin's habits change when he's buzzed, or having reached his destination broadens his range of action. It pisses him off, but Levi can't even claim he wouldn't be just as pissed if Erwin decided to let him go – this irks him, he's not used to feeling more than indifference or mild concern towards others.

“Levi.”

And fuck his commando-tone. Levi passes the bouncer (tuxedo and machine gun, how nice) and flings the door open. He's not prepared for the downpour outside that has flooded the streets with two finger's breadth of water and gargles in the clogged gullies: it hits him like a wet curtain and sucks the warmth from him. All anger, lust and content seem to seep out, the air tastes salty and coppery.

He simply hates Boston.

The door to the Third Rail slams shut and cuts off the welcoming lights, leaving only old street lanterns; sodium vapor lamps with their orange glow.

In their shine, Erwin with an umbrella resting against his shoulder seems strangely out of place. A ticket from the Third Rail is attached to the grip, and there's probably a knife hidden somewhere in the crooked handle. If you don't look too closely under those lighting conditions, Erwin could seem like a gentleman going for a midnight stroll.

His bright eyes seem to blaze through the falling rain. Levi feels a chill of something, not sure whether it tells him to run or to get closer. He wants to do both. There is something intangible on that man, as if he's not the same as the person wiping his eyes drowsily in the morning or meticulously stitching fabric together.

Levi has never asked him whether he's human. It's still a useless question, and yet he begins to slowly dread the answer.

Then Erwin cocks his head, just a little, towards the street where the illuminated letters of the Hotel occasionally flicker. An invitation, subtle, discreet. No offense if it's ignored. But there's hope that it won't be.

Levi is wet already, the rain is starting to soak through leather and waxed fiber, leaks through to touch his skin. His hair sticks to his face and water steadily pearls from his nose and chin, forces him to blink. He's had worse, but it would be nice to dry off, warm up, lay down somewhere moderately comfortable.

There's something he's missing. Levi knows this, but he can't place it. Erwin turns away to go over to the Hotel, face betraying nothing. The orange glow from the lamps makes the raindrops sparkle.

Levi catches up to him. His steps splash on the flooded asphalt, nowhere near quiet, but there's no one else there to hear it anyway. Erwin stops to wait for him, and Levi only then realizes his face is still tense with irritation – a harsh expression that doesn't seem to put Erwin off, just like Levi isn't discouraged by the other's ostensible disinterest.

Despite his cooling skin, the heat converging in his groin and chest makes the decision for him, urges him on.

He wants this man. Now. Right here, but he can bear the short walk to the Hotel and up the stairs. Joining Erwin under his silly umbrella feels otherworldly and playful at the same time, a prickling sensation travels up Levi's arm as he leans his side into Erwin's for a moment.

It will change his life – or what he has thought to be his.

 


	2. Part Two

The stairs of the Hotel Rexford creak even under careful steps. The entrance hall is dark, and in the early hours of morning, it's nearly quiet safe for the humming of a large generator and someone shuffling in the backroom behind the counter.

There's no light on the flights of stairs, but Levi's eyes can see enough with the few rays from street lamps outside. All of his senses are hyper-aware, even when the surroundings they survey aren't worth his attention: he smells the mold and rotting veneer, feels the threadbare carpet on his soles, cold rainwater dripping from his hair and gliding down his face, he even hears the drops hitting the floor, the soft jarring of moist leather on his gear. And on his tongue, there's the taste of whiskey and syrup.

The outline of Erwin's body is in the corner of his eye: he's not moving as swiftly as Levi in the darkness, but he's relatively quiet. And no faster than usual, because he doesn't rush, and that actually raises a twinge of nervousness in Levi.

He hasn't been with anyone since running from the Combat Zone – first because it was luxury to be the only human within miles and miles, then annoyance at other people's caution towards him, and ultimately distrust. He may be feeling a little jittery right now.

But he can still run. He's free, it's his choice; he could even fight his way out, if he had to, and Erwin wouldn't even give that fight. That's why Levi chooses to stay.

The door's hinges screech, a sound that seems much too loud in his ears, and it's starting to scratch his nerves that everything is noisy here, the bed's probably squeaky as hell and those floorboards-

His fucking, fucking _nerves._ When did he get so tense?

The door leaf is scarred like it's been picked or simply kicked open one too many times, like all the doors here, and Levi briefly wonders why Erwin doesn't care when the old lock grates into place and leaves them alone in a sparsely furnished, cold room. It's even darker here, the only strip of light comes from a single luminous advertising for the bar, a bluish shimmer that seems to make Erwin's eyes glow. They're wide and cool and hungry.

“Stand still.”

Levi is surprised how low his voice is: his senses are hyper-aware so he doesn't need to speak loudly, and Erwin apparently understands, because he doesn't move indeed. His back is towards the door, water drips from the now-closed umbrella in his hand.

It's the first thing Levi takes from him, he places it somewhere in the corner to create some more water-stains and mold, not his problem. He steps in front of Erwin again and raises his hands to the lapels of his coat, feels the relatively dry fabric and the neat stitches where it's been repaired. He begins to open it, the snugly attached buttons and the buckles, then slides it from Erwin's wide shoulders. The warmth radiating from the other body makes him feel light-headed; Levi swallows dryly and lets the heavy coat drop to a heap behind Erwin.

This is his advantage. His senses are better than Erwin's, and he notices with some amusement that the other man indeed remains still, despite the natural swaying of a standing body after a while. Maybe he understands Levi's desire to do things 'by himself' first, like placing an arm over his own side.

Levi's fingers ghost over Erwin's belt and slowly, deliberately draw the knife he keeps there. Then he drops it with a dull sound and feels for the taser strapped to his inner forearm.

He knows where Erwin keeps his weapons; unlike Levi, he doesn't hide them. Levi can strip him of them, and Erwin lets him.

Levi gets to his knees to take the cryogenic laser from Erwin's boot and carefully places it on the moth-eaten carpet, then runs his hands up the man's thighs as if to feel for anything else – he knows there's nothing because he's counted Erwin's weapons before, but he wants to be thorough, and he wants to _touch_.

He remembers it now. How desire is expressed, how it feels to be aroused by the contact with someone who's not even touching him. Levi feels the twitch in Erwin's thick femoral muscles and grins mindlessly, rises smoothly to spread his hands over Erwin's shoulders. He realizes he's still dripping wet from the rain, unlike Erwin, and it feels like vandalism to get some of that rain on him, so Levi does it. He presses up to him and soils him with his cold and wet body, then rises on his toes to run his lips over Erwin's throat and cheeks.

There's that hint of roughness shaved skin always has, and it smells of cigarettes and whiskey. Levi shivers and sighs, relishes that mixture and feels Erwin's impatient stiffening in response.

But he stays still. Because he wants to, not because he fears Levi will reject this otherwise: there's a difference Levi can tell, and somewhere inside of him, some odd longing seems satisfied.

“Fucking tin man,” he hums with a note of fondness and runs his hands over Erwin's arms, finds no weapons because he knows there are none. When he reaches the other's hands, he takes them and draws them underneath his open coat, and the stillness ends.

Levi expects a kiss, but when Erwin dips his head, it's to press them against his jaw, where the skin is cool and soft. His fingers reach into Levi's wet hair, though they quickly get stuck in the tangles that seem to materialize immediately upon contact with water. His lips are warm and chapped as they graze the slight bumps of scarred skin where someone once tried to cut Levi's throat with a sloppy strike and a blade that wasn't sharp enough. An old bone saw, if he remembers correctly.

Callous fingertips move to the bulging scar on the prominent part of skull behind Levi's ear, where a screwdriver once glanced off. Luckily, because the attack had been aimed at his artery. Levi had rewarded it with a broken neck, why does he even remember this now-

Erwin's tongue, hot and oddly dry, as if his saliva has been momentarily seared, darts out and slowly drags over the scar, his other hand wiggles between layers of wet and moist leather to press his warm imprint into the cold skin. It's nearly stifling, his fingers running over the upper and lower part of Levi's spine, not even deep under his clothes, yet Levi's knees suddenly buckle. He digs his hands into Erwin's hips to hold himself upright, still sways slightly, his pulse thrums under the lips mouthing at his scars.

“What the _fuck_ ,” he grinds out and feels Erwin's fingers dance along his rump, squeeze themselves under the heavy ammo belt. “Th' fuck you're doing?”

Erwin stills for a moment, and Levi feels his smirk – the bastard is always so full of himself it turns him on.

“Levi,” he starts, almost casually, “what kind of barbarians did you take to bed before?”

It should probably insult him, but Levi indeed doesn't remember being picky before, or someone taking his time _and_ knowing the anatomy. He doesn't even know what Erwin does, maybe it doesn't matter – only that he doesn't rush, like he actually means to savor this.

Funny thought. Levi can't admit he gets hard from someone stroking his damn back, and he's not going to try; he yanks Erwin's head up by coarse blond hair and kisses him, lips pressing together with so much force it makes them numb and tingly, slams his body into Erwin's with considerable impact so the man nearly staggers.

Everyone in the wastelands, regardless of gender, wears some sort of protection on the lower abdomen because every hit there fucking hurts, but Levi knows the hardness of military fiber and he knows when that's not all. It makes him want to move at a more frenzied pace, he peels the wet coat from his shoulders and growls in irritation when the leather gets stuck; Erwin has caught himself again, following Levi's quick shift of moods like he's known it would come; somewhere in his mind, Levi knows it's unsettling, it should warn him, but desire is louder than instinct this time.

The tangled leather comes free and is pushed from his shoulders, the circle of discarded weapons and protective clothing around them is complete. There's still more, items that Levi has picked up while traveling that can be used as a weapon yet won't immediately be recognized as such – a gutter-arsenal. They're outlined in the wet fabric, giving his silhouette more bumps and edges than anyone should have.

He could wait for Erwin to find them and take them off, as Levi has done with his weapons before, and on another night – _another? -_ he'll want that, lay himself bare.

But not now. He's been warming up long enough.

Levi loosens the buckles on his right side quickly, then grabs the hem of his shirt, set with protective leather, twisted bobby pins and the occasional bit of lead, pulls it over his head and drops it. The cotton undershirt follows while his ears pick up the rustling of cloth, his eyes catch the flash of Erwin's fair skin. He has blond hair on his chest, too, mostly straight and with a resemblance to light fur – that genes-thing again, probably.

Levi is too curious to not touch it, run his flat hand over hair that is soft, softer than the coarse strands on the scalp – it tickles a little, and he feels Erwin shiver in surprise, remembers that the other can hardly see him and his hands are cold. Muscles flex beneath the skin under Levi's touch, breath hitches slightly until it's almost a gasp.

Kisses feel less like a decision of the mind now, just something that naturally generates from the mood, the building heat. Rain drums against the windows and momentarily drowns out sounds when the artificial lightning of a streetlight burning out brightens the outside world. Levi meets Erwin's eyes on coincidence that second, that blue abyss that wants to swallow him whole.

Levi freezes but Erwin does not. He may not see the room and the scattered belongings, and apparently he doesn't need to, just wraps his arms around Levi's middle and fucking _lifts_ him the few inches it takes to cross the little circle. Levi struggles out of sheer obstinacy and maybe for fun, his booted feet dangle in the air and kick at Erwin's shins; incidentally, his thigh nudges the other's crotch again, his own digs into the hard outline of Erwin's belt so suddenly it makes him groan. His hands don't push nearly enough to break Erwin's grip, yet he presses harsh kisses along the man's neck and ear. As long as his feet don't reach the ground, he's lighter than air, strong hands roam his scarred skin. Arms like iron bands restrain him against someone else, and it should be the most irritating insolence – it is, and Levi will see punishment for that.

He winds his arms around Erwin's bare shoulders and slides up despite his tight grip, his cold, damp skin rubs against dry flesh dusted with soft hair. Leather creaks again when Levi wraps his legs around Erwin's waist to anchor himself right there and rolls his hips, feels the muscles of those arms bunch as they take extra weight that is by no means light.

It's risky, even without arousal and alcohol playing their part, and Levi feels the swaying as Erwin fights to keep his balance – then he's abruptly whirled around and his naked back slams into a cold, hard surface.

The glass window and its frame crunch ominously, but they hold: Levi feels the window ledge beneath his ass and even the patter of raindrops through the glass. His breath is coming quick; somewhere in his mind, he has thought he'd fall, and his legs have instinctively clamped down, his nails are digging into Erwin's skin.

They are still for a solid second. Then Erwin drags him into another bruising kiss, one of his hands runs down the left side of Levi's chest. It's hairless but not smooth, other old scars litter it, the most prominent being one that has split his nipple and twists into a messy clump of tissue. A strike with a chain blade; Levi didn't think he'd survive when that thing came down on his heart. It's always a bit tender and Erwin's touch stings, yet when his other hand works on Levi's belt and his lips move _just so_ over his own, it's hard to care.

Levi proceeds to kick off his boots; it doesn't work. His hazy mind drags itself away from frenzied kisses that get shorter, breathless, then loses focus again once Erwin loosens the belt and pushes his hand beneath the waistband.

“Fucking hell,” Levi growls against the other's lips, frustration bleeding so heavily into his voice he's almost embarrassed. If he could care.

The hand wedged between his pants and crotch stills, and _that_ pisses Levi off even more, though he registers that Erwin even bothers to listen, not keep pawing. He wiggles against it with an impatient huff and fists a hand in Erwin's tousled hair.

“Boots,” he snarls curtly, like it explains everything. Which it normally does, in sound mind at least. Wet leather is a bitch to take off, especially boots that practically melt into the leg, and like hell is he going to allow any help to get them off.

He can't pull his pants over them, though, which means he can't take those off fully, either. He's trapped because of his fucking _boots_.

Erwin pauses, like he waits for something more or processes that. His hand still covers the ugly scar above Levi's heart, callous skin rubs over the edges with every one of their quick breaths. His lips are curved into the hint of a smirk that he probably considers invisible as they run over the shell of Levi's ear.

You can't really top anyone if your legs are trapped in your own pants, it's shitty awkward. Levi hates the assumption that he can't top because he's shorter than most women, but it's hard to argue right now, and he doesn't want bad sex for the sake of his pride. He wants Erwin. He wants it to be good because things between them have been largely good from the start and he doesn't want to screw up.

To show he doesn't care that much, Levi rakes his blunt nails down the nape of Erwin's neck, nips his throat just hard enough to alert him. “I won,” he states, kissing the humming artery beneath the light skin.

“You did,” Erwin agrees, somewhat dazed. He can't press his hand inside Levi's pants down further as long as the cloth is stretched like that, but he can move the other; it travels from the bumpy tissue on Levi's left chest to his ribs and a pair of round, seemingly unremarkable bullet scars. His breath hitches in his throat, Levi feels it. Feels the sudden deepness of that voice, too, tinged with lust. “Every... single... time.”

They're not talking about the drinking game alone.

“That impressive?” Levi rolls his hips again, his blood begins to sing now, he wants _something_ , and at the same time, he's grasping for a satisfaction he doesn't know, can't name. “I'm good.”

Tribute.

“You are.” Erwin's voice is hoarse and playful, and still he shivers when Levi presses himself against him, then he presses back, traps Levi between the cold glass and his warm body. The frame creaks again, threatens to break, to pierce Levi's back with shards and perhaps let him tumble into an unspectacular death on those dirty streets, but he can't retreat. As if that window was as solid as the metal cage from the Combat Zone, he can't run, he has to finish.

“I won,” he hears himself repeat, begins to hump mindlessly; there is no rhythm, just the ache in his cock that tightens in his spine and drums in his head. “'m better than them.” He hisses it against Erwin's skin, his teeth scrape over bare skin again, leave red scratches.

Erwin moves away just enough to lean down and close his mouth over the scar covering Levi's heart: the sting of electricity is so strong it makes him arch his back and moan almost feebly. Those lips circle the long-healed skin, a hot tongue follows the seams where the flesh has closed, slamming an invisible weight into Levi's already pounding heart.

“Better than anyone,” Erwin murmurs, his words tickle tender, wet skin.

Levi wants to respond, wants to repeat, but there's something stopping him; he's trembling and he feels feverish, he wants to go back to a game that doesn't reach as deep into his mind as this. He licks his lips, his hands shake slightly as he takes Erwin's head between them and drags his damn face up to kiss him, silence those words that confuse and arouse him in a way that he can't handle, can't understand. Not now.

“Fuck,” he rasps against Erwin's rough lips, as if they might speak and drain his power again. “Come on, let's fuck.”

He slides from the window ledge even though his knees feel squishy. Erwin's lips graze the corner of his mouth like a whisper, but Levi can't hear him over the pounding of his blood; he wants to, he can't. Instead he climbs onto the sheetless mattress – it creaks indeed – and doesn't even care about the dirt under his boots getting there.

There's a rustle of cloth and the short whir of a zipper as Erwin discards the last of his clothing before joining Levi on the bed. Said man never hesitates as he pulls him down to his level and reaches between his legs at the same time, his fingers have warmed up slightly and still tremble.

He's hard, the slight curve of his cock nestles to Levi's palm and throbs just slightly. Perhaps it's been long for both of them, and that's a relief in some way. Levi arches his back with a throaty sigh when Erwin's fingers work his pants open and shove the soggy cloth aside: it feels like he's peeling off a layer of useless skin that stops mid-thigh, and Levi shivers in the cool air. He moves his legs and tests his degree of freedom – he can manage, and it's better than putting this off till he's gotten rid of his boots.

Satisfied, Levi makes shameless use of his sharper senses and rolls on top of Erwin before the man can react, straddles him and presses a smug bite onto his chin. He can feel himself rubbing over the other's arousal and can't resist rocking against him, earning a sharp gasp and a callous hand digging into the curve of his hip to force him down. And Levi does, presses his hips down to the point of discomfort, the ragged moan he hears doesn't seem to come from his own vocal chords, the heat prickling beneath his skin makes it hard to think.

Has it always felt this way? He can't remember. It seems wise not to. When Erwin kisses him again, Levi bites down on his lower lip and tastes a hint of metallic blood. It makes his fingers curl into Erwin's bare skin, just to leave crescents on his shoulder and side, but his hips keep up their movement, drag themselves over the lap under him with an increasing speed. A cold buckle slaps against the base of his cock when the motion gets too wild, and the same second, Erwin's hand closes over his throat.

He doesn't clamp down, yet it's thrilling enough to trigger Levi's reflexes and flood his brain with adrenaline that heightens every stimulus to a point of over-sensitivity for a tiny time span. Levi takes a strangled breath against the pressure on his windpipe, his body shudders. One hand balls into a fist, ready to punch while his mind still reels-

“Better than... anyone.” He hears the scary smile in Erwin's voice, both reverent and taunting. “Levi...”

The words melt something inside of Levi: he feels it running down his spine, hammering in his balls, drowning out his desire for violence. He pushes himself up on one arm to tower over Erwin but grabs the hand on his throat with the other before it can fall away. Not thinking at all, he presses a kiss into the hollow of the palm before taking the fingertips into his mouth.

It's an alien feeling, the hard skin with fine ridges, blunt nails and tense sinews. Levi's mouth is too dry to properly wet them, and that's not the point: it's the gesture, and he wants to. Erwin's index finger twitches to tease the soft inside of his cheek and then run over the sharp tip of one canine tooth. When his fingertip grazes an even pointier edge of an incisor that was slightly chipped by a particularly hard hit with a board, Levi feels him exhale audibly – it could be a sigh or a quiet laugh.

Everything about Levi is scarred in some way. Erwin seems to like it. His hold on Levi's hip becomes gentler, almost a caress, before that hand disappears.

Levi grins and runs his tongue over the callous outline of Erwin's trigger finger when a drawer is opened with a scrabbling sound, and he nearly idly wraps his fingers around Erwin's cock, repeating the motions of his tongue. He can feel the other man tense, the silhouette beneath him fights a shiver but his breath hitches again with a rough overtone.

He's good at concealing his reactions, but Levi feels the hint of wetness on his own fingers as he reaches the tip and grins, then tightens his grip – it earns him a groan and a barely suppressed jerking of the hips between his thighs. In response, Erwin pulls his fingers from Levi's mouth and shoves them unceremoniously between his legs, his coarse knuckles brush deliberately over the sensitive flesh behind his balls.

Levi drops his head and lets it hang for a second: he had almost forgotten what he's after, and now his pulse is racing, igniting his nerves.

This is beyond games. Something inside him seems to falter at the prospect, the memory of kisses making him weak and words reaching inside his head. He withdraws his hand from Erwin's cock – that sigh following is as disappointed as it is unmeant to be heard – and rises onto his knees to turn around. With his legs trapped like this, it takes a bit of flexibility, but as soon as he faces away from Erwin, he feels inexplicably safer. He moans softly as he lets the weight of his body sink down again, straddling the other the same way as before, only with his back turned towards him.

This is better. Levi impatiently rolls his hips so he nudges Erwin's cock into the crease of his ass, heat creeps up his back at the feeling and the anticipation in his mind makes him flushed. In this position, his erection casually yet steadily grazes Erwin's thigh as long as the man keeps his legs at least bent to a certain degree. It makes him want to rut, but that would be too quick, and now that his nerves are settled, his self-control is struggling.

Luckily, Erwin doesn't waste any more time with confusion, nor does he ask – Levi has rarely appreciated him keeping his trap shut more than now. A lid snaps, then the same rough fingers coated with something greasy smoothed over them enter Levi without a word.

He hisses at the sensation that has grown as unfamiliar to him as most things connected to sex, but he doesn't complain; now that he has regained his feeling of composure, his body obeys him fully. Even then Levi can't naturally relax on the spot, and Erwin doesn't demand it: Levi feels the tremble in his tense muscles and the hardness pressing against his cleft, and the bastard still has it in him to move slow enough to cause no pain. Discomfort, yes, though Levi would hate to be treated too gently. Soon enough, he pushes back against the two fingers repeating their scissoring motions and groans when they crook in response.

Despite the cool air, there is sweat forming all over his body now, and the only reason he hasn't wrapped his hand around his own cock again is that he's afraid he might fall apart if he does. Levi digs his fingers into the chords of muscle on Erwin's thighs in an effort to control his breathing, hopes that his lust will subside a bit if there's not enough air. It doesn't work.

What was he trying to remember when they were down at the bar? Something about dancing. Erwin didn't take him seriously. He usually does. He takes everything seriously.

Levi grits his teeth until he feels his jaws grate. This doesn't help at all.

The ring of muscle burns when a third finger circles it, and Levi immediately pushes it into himself with a new angle of his hips: with his pants restraining him, he can't spread his legs as wide as normally, and the additional tightness that Erwin has to accommodate to makes white lights flash behind his eyelids. Levi rocks back again and sighs when the tip of Erwin's cock rubs over his rump – much to his dismay, it makes Erwin freeze. To collect himself, Levi realizes, and reaches behind him to trace the wrist of the hand that shamelessly buries his fingers in his ass. It should feel strange. It does, in a good way. He doesn't want to get used to this, doesn't want to see it as a routine.

“Move,” Levi rasps, gone beyond caring. He's hot and shaky and he feels like he'll crumble if he can't get off soon.

Erwin withdraws his fingers slowly, his thumb briefly grazes a scar on Levi's right buttock – the marks are everywhere, of course. Levi remembers humiliation when the whip with iron spikes came down on his ass, but he also remembers pressing it over a throat not long afterwards, drawing out sobs of surrender.

The memory completely vanishes as the tip of a cock nudges his entrance and then slowly yet steadily _pushes_. For a moment, Levi can't hear a thing over the sound of his own harsh breathing and the stream of slurred curses that come with it.

He has almost forgotten there is a reason people like sex so much. And the wastelands truly almost made him forget.

“Fuck,” he spits, then quickly corrects the dip of his hips so Erwin's cock slides in in a different angle; he hangs his head between his shoulders and drags in breaths. The pulse between his legs is hot and heavy, thumping low in his belly and _he will not last_.

If Levi wasn't so far gone, he'd care. Now, he just slams his hips down – pain races up his spine in a short stab when muscles cramp at the sudden motion, but even if he meant to slow down, Erwin wouldn't let him. Patience apparently used up, his large hands grip Levi's hips from behind and drag him down until he's fully seated. The body beneath him is hard with tension, the firm thighs beneath Levi's hands are taut and offer little anchor.

Levi runs the back of his hand over his mouth, his own breathing is choppy and rough. He angles his hips a little different again to adjust easier and hears Erwin's strangled groan, feels him shudder. One of the hands holding him tightens, probably presses a bruise into the skin, then runs up Levi's side as far as he can reach.

It's impersonal, but intense. For a moment, Levi is oddly tempted to touch the hand on his side, aware that Erwin can feel his thundering heart; they're fucking, of course his pulse is galloping, so why does this feel intimate? It's no matter. Levi huffs and arches his back until the hard rod inside him is angled in a way that's going to make him see stars.

It does. When Levi raises himself up and braces his hands behind himself on the mattress, Erwin snaps his hips up in response and drives in deeply – his voice echoing from the walls takes an even darker timbre that makes an electric chill run down Levi's back as he gasps, writhes as heat smothers every thought, every ache.

He doesn't try to hold back; he's dully aware that Erwin does, to draw out the pleasure, but Levi lives for immediate satisfaction, and there's something incredibly liberating in giving into an urge that has lurked in his mind since he's seen Erwin shave for the first time.

Levi pries the other hand from his hip to free his movement, then lifts himself up again and cries out as he comes down, this time it feels like a heavy impact that fuels the throbbing in his groin to a barely endurable tightness. Although every muscles is under strain, he feels no exhaustion at all: as if his mind is detaching itself from his body.

Erwin forces his hips up in time with Levi's, he's buried deeply, almost too deeply, there's a breathless chuckle somewhere in the darkness; Levi grins in turn and sits up straight to roll his hips nearly gently, then grinds down as hard as he can. The cock inside him seems to scrape along his inner walls with a ferocity that can't be possible; it rubs Levi's nerve endings rare, makes them fire with intensity. He can't help repeating the motion, writhing until he reaches that point again where all the world just _melts_.

There's no rhythm, no order. Levi doesn't need it. He wraps one hand around his pulsing cock and shivers at the coarseness of his own palm on hyper-aware skin – he can imagine what it feels like for Erwin, can imagine his grim face and smoldering eyes. Shit, he practically feels that gaze burning holes into his naked back...

But he can't actually see him. Levi's moans reach a new, strained note, he lifts himself up again and feels his motions stutter slightly. The bed frame creaks in protest as the pattern grows frenzies and his own hand brings him to the edge of pain with the calloused skin and Erwin who suddenly crooks one knee to push Levi back. It makes him brush the spot inside Levi again, that idiotically placed bundle of nerves that shoots white-hot pleasure through his limbs again, mixes with the stimulus of his hand and, in some way, Erwin's rough, aroused breathing that seems like an unreasonably sexy sound.

It's too much, or rather, it's finally enough.

His own raspy cry seems alien to Levi's ears as he tenses, fluid wets his fingers and stomach and he can't _stop_ , the erratic up and down of his hips is the only movement to ride out his orgasm. Levi places his hands on Erwin's thighs for leverage and hisses with each breath, curses and mumbles slipping in as his brain still fires feelings of euphoria and challenge.

He remembers it. He's alive. He's good. Better than them.

Levi spits out more curses as Erwin comes: the sensation of something hot filling him is strange to the point of discomfort, yet there's that voice, grunts and moans turning into an unusually quiet sigh that's... unburdened in some sort.

Someone in a room above hammers against their floor with an angry series of thumps, a bit of plastering actually trickles from the ceiling. Levi raises his head to look up, breath still coming fast and sweat drying on his skin. He feels... different, as if his nerves are temporarily wired anew.

“Fuck you, too!” he yells back at the ceiling, his voice a bit hoarse and more guttural than he remembers it.

The thumping stops, whether on coincidence or because of him, he doesn't care. He just hears, feels Erwin's low chuckle and can't care for the reason.

“Troublemaker.”

Levi flips him off in the dark, since he can't reach him with his elbow right now. “'n fuck _you_ , too.”

 

It's dark outside, the night seems to last forever. Right now, it could be worse.

Levi holds the burning flip lighter casually between fore- and middle finger, watches the little flame cast a warm glow on the light blond of Erwin's hair. There's no silver in it yet; the wastelands make you age quickly. Levi has no clue how old he himself actually is, apparently he's young enough to keep going.

Despite the coolness of the room, none of them have gotten dressed again, their equipment and clothes are scattered on the floor as they have left them. Now Levi is sitting on the edge of the bed and Erwin on the faded carpet, one of Levi's booted feet propped on his shoulder. His fingers move efficiently, but without any haste along the lacing, loosening it methodically until even the damp leather will let the lower leg and foot slide out.

Levi didn't want it at first, but now it seems oddly natural, and Erwin doesn't mind. Some strands of his hair have fallen over his thick brows, the room still smells like sex and wet cloth. It has electric light, and despite that Levi prefers fire, even if it keeps his hand busy and his thumb is starting to cramp.

His right leg comes free, and Erwin puts the boot aside to dry properly. Wordlessly, Levi moves his left leg to his other shoulder, then smirks as he catches sight of the dirty imprint on Erwin's fair skin – he has wiped off come before it could dry, but the same can't be said for filth under his boots. Levi decides he likes staining Erwin like this.

The other man makes no complaint as he sets to work again; if his fingers hurt, he doesn't let on. The seemingly inferior position doesn't appear to bother him either, and Levi likes to watch, too. Erwin loosens lacing as accurately as he shaves or mends, and there's night enough left to go again. Longer this time. Perhaps even draw it out a little, who knows.

“You've got an impressive collection.” Erwin's voice remains a bit deeper, and Levi is in no hurry to let it go: it's a lot more sensual than Erwin probably knows.

He gives the other's shoulder a little nudge. “Still alive, am I not?”

Erwin's gaze darts up through his lashes, and Levi feels himself grin and shift. His high is not over yet, and it's more satisfying than Daytripper or Psycho, especially when he feels Erwin's eyes on his naked body, the unconcealed scars in their different shapes and sizes. Knowing he's being watched, Levi runs his fingers over his lower arm where there are long-healed bite marks from a mongrel.

“By now, I'm actually surprised that you are.”

Levi snorts, more amused than affronted – he's had worse than this fucker being honest. Besides, it's kind of hard getting angry at someone after sex. At least good sex. “'m good at recovery.”

“That you are.” There is a teasing note, so faint that when Levi glances at Erwin's face, he can't catch it anywhere. In return, he runs his now-bare foot along the man's knee up to his thigh, stroking the skin with his toe. The corner of his mouth curls lightly.

He wasn't even aiming for the innuendo with his answer, but he doesn't mind it being taken as such. Erwin obviously doesn't either, because his hands come up around Levi's ankle and begin to tug the boot down: it resists, luckily it's loose enough to slide anyway, and he can finally take off the rest of his clothes.

Erwin moves to uncross his legs and get up, but Levi simply removes his thumb from the flip lighter and sets the room into darkness again as he slips from the mattress to the carpet, to Erwin, his annoyingly enchanting kisses and strong arms.

The rain outside has faded, every noise is unveiled now, the darkness even deeper. It's a strange, intimate place out from the world, and for the first time in a long while, Levi feels secure.

 

Daylight is bound to come. It's less awkward than Levi thought, then realizes that they've both considered going to bed for apparently long enough to feel no embarrassment.

Exhaustion, though, is another matter. Erwin has something to do – he's still very sketchy with details, and Levi is content to curl on the mattress for now and let him revel in his damn secrecy – and leaves around morning, but he promises to meet him later.

Agreements like this are familiar between them, and yet it suddenly feels more personal; something that Levi curses because it makes no sense, sex is as much of a good as food or clean water. You pretty much exchange it with whoever you trust enough, or if you don't have a choice.

He allows himself to sleep for a while longer, then jerks awake with the sudden vexing realization that he hasn't bothered with getting a place to sleep yesterday – he hasn't _meant_ to stay here exactly, and now it looks like that has been his plan.

He'll correct that when he gets hold of Erwin. Soon, preferably, and he'll get his own room.

After Levi has collected his belongings and gotten washed and dressed, he leaves the Hotel for now; the counter in the lobby is empty anyway. And although he has all the ugly details of Goodneighbor open for exploration, something draws him back to the Third Rail.

It's open – it always is, no closing time needed with a robot around. Levi isn't surprised that there are some patrons hanging around as well despite the fact that it's noon: drinking culture in the wastelands has always been _liberal_ , no surprise there. The air is a little cleaner, at least.

The robot turns one of his telescope eyes on Levi as he approaches the counter, the lens slightly contracts on sight. “Aren't you chipper,” it growls as it cleans glasses.

Levi shrugs – pretending he's hung-over is just a ridiculous farce, and since he usually doesn't even stay long enough for anyone to wonder, it's never been a problem. And the robot doesn't seem interested in hearing his condition anyway.

It seems to know Erwin, though. The fucker is close-lipped at best, and Levi doesn't feel quite comfortable traveling with someone he knows absolutely nothing about. He can literally hold a gun to Erwin's head for that, but it's not worth the hassle – it suffices if he just hears _something_ , and Levi has a feeling that this shitty piece of floating metal at least won't dodge the topic or distract him in some other way.

Probably a good thing, that.

“You answer questions?” he asks the robot – bartenders, whether they're human, ghoul or mechanical, usually trade information for the right price, though it doesn't always cost. But it likely does in Goodneighbor, and besides, it's a sign of good will to offer.

“Not for people who don't drink,” the robot replies gruffly and points at the stocked shelves, then it's arm equipped with a little buzz saw rotates as if to make a dismissive gesture. “Then again, getting _you_ shitfaced will just run my bar dry, and the Major hates bad business.”

That's accurate so far, and Levi is not too keen on the taste of alcohol after yesterday's binge of badly adulterated gin. “You have coffee?”

The buzz saw whizzes in affront, and Levi turns a wary eye towards it, though the robot simply waves it again. “Choke on it, lad. Whaddaya want?”

It gets back to cleaning glasses, and Levi takes a seat on one of the stools – the bar is a bit too high for his liking, and he doesn't need a constant reminder that people are generally taller than him. The annoying box of scrap metal seems content with that, at least, and slams a clean glass of water in front of him. Maybe it's mockery in a bar like this, but water is welcome, and the aftertaste of chlorine isn't too strong in this portion.

“You know the guy who was with me.” It's not a question. And the robot doesn't answer. Levi considers calling this whole shit off, and yet he hesitates to do so. He's already gone this far, might as well settle it. “What's he do?”

The robot barks a laugh that sounds like a box of screws is rattling inside a vent. “Tell you what, son... If I _knew_ , I'd sell that information dearly. Don't wanna know – and you don't, either.”

Levi blinks, unimpressed. “Try me.”

The robot laughs again, its bowler hat slips down its round body and is pushed back up by one of the three arms. “Ya don't. Chummy with him anyway, you are, so what's the curiosity?”

Levi knows better than to answer. “What makes you so wary of him?”

This time, the robot doesn't immediately follow up with some snappy line. It exchanges clean glasses for dirty ones and takes a new washcloth, though 'new' doesn't mean 'sanitary', and a second eye briefly turns to Levi, giving him a once-over as if to measure something.

“Tell you what,” it says again, mechanical voice a bit lower albeit no one is close enough to listen to them, “y'not too soft, and you didn't start shit at my bar when you could have, yesterday – God knows some of them deserved a second asshole – so I'll get you a word of warning. Normally, if you piss someone off bad in Goodneighbor, you're found face down in some gutter the next morning or hanging from the lamppost.”

It seems to go back into some fond memories, then turns its main eye back to Levi. Its inexpressiveness is starting to feel unsettling because there is no face to read, just that abrasive voice. “If you mess with Erwin, you're not found _at all._ Don't know how he does it, and he doesn't do it often, so the Mayor doesn't interfere. Just a word of advice... Or an offer, if you wanna stay.”

Staying in Goodneighbor is among the last things Levi wants, and he doesn't understand why the robot would think so – especially without knowing him. Goodneighbor isn't a place anyone lives in if you can afford _and_ survive somewhere else.

“Here.” He puts his skepticism in that one word, and the robot seems to bristle. “Too good for ya, kid?”

Levi snorts and shrugs; he's not going to piss off the floating chatterbox more than necessary, and besides, he likes its tone. “Don't like towns in general.”

“Hah! 'Town', he calls it.” The robot skips a little higher, maybe its equation to a shrug itself. “Tell me when you change your mind.”

That's the second time it assumes something like that, and it's starting to make Levi wary. He eyes the robot sharply, fingernails tapping against the glass. It's beginning to sound like a threat if something is repeated so casually, he knows. “Am I supposed to?”

“If Erwin has a habit of dropping strays off here, you are.”

_Strays?_ What the fuck is that supposed to mean?!

He's irritated against his better judgment – why does the shitty robot make it sound like Erwin leaves the bulky garbage in Goodneighbor, where nobody cares about the dirt you drag in? And who the fuck did he take here before?

The robot watches him with an unpleasant automatic blink that draws blinds around the pupil, then turns its speaker to the door behind the bar; it doesn't wait for Levi's reaction, as if it knows what he's thinking.

This has been a fucking bad idea.

“Mikasa! You free, flower?”

Erwin brought a whore here? And now it's shitty awkward. Levi considers leaving when the door opens and a young woman pokes her head out, paying no attention to the room but to the robot. “If you're asking, Charlie.”

Levi notices that the robot named Charlie doesn't bellow at her like it does at everybody else; her voice is familiar, too, though her face would help him more, and it's veiled by her black hair.

“Aye, sure. You up to talking to some gentleman here?”

Her derisive snort, not ladylike and yet somewhat elegant, tells enough about her opinion on  _gentlemen_ in this bar, but she steps around the bar while Charlie floats off, although it stays close. Annoyed for no reason in particular and because he wants to get this over with, Levi looks at her.

First, she's likely not a whore: she's the chanteuse from the evening before, that's why her voice rang a bell.

Second, her beauty is otherworldly.

It's a bit harder to recognize her since she's not dressed in a sparkling sequin dress and hasn't applied smoky makeup around her eyes or her lipstick, but to Levi's eyes, it makes her stand out even more: in jeans and flannel shirt with a shawl draped around her shoulders, she's dazzling. She's slender, the baggy clothing swallows her figure in a way her stage-dress does not, her creamy skin is flawless instead of weathered, and it doesn't even look like expensive surgery. Nothing does, from her symmetric face to her silky black hair and her beautiful, serious eyes.

Unlike yesterday, however, the lady called Mikasa wears no coquettish expression, and along with her lack of makeup, it makes her seem a lot less seductive and almost stern. That's the way she's regarding Levi, too, matter-of-fact and calm, without visible interest.

“How can I help you?”

Her tone is not actually unfriendly, more like... impassive. She's probably had more than her fair share of seedy offers for a 'good time', and while Levi judges her as someone who takes those with a smile and a gracefully gentle rebuff at work, she's  _not_ working right now.

He'll get this over with as fast as possible – it's fucking embarrassing. And despite his attitude towards the situation, Levi can't help feeling curious. Mikasa is obviously not the drifter-type, she looks like someone from a secure, wealthy settlement, not the kind to land in a dingy flophouse. Nor does she appear to be uncomfortable in this environment as she takes the stool next to Levi and crosses her legs.

“You've traveled with Erwin, the floaty box says.”

Mikasa returns his gaze without visible reaction. “Yes.”

That's all there is. Levi takes a moment to analyze her posture, her neutral face. She's not terribly interested, yes, but she's also unwilling to tell him anything that could bring Erwin harm. Whatever their relationship is, she's either cautious or harbors some sort of loyalty for him. Both, maybe.

Levi knows the kind of woman that's easily impressed, and Mikasa doesn't belong to them – it makes a spark of jealousy ignite in his gut, thankfully it dies as quickly as it has come. This is meaningless to him, especially because it has to be.

“From where?”

Mikasa shrugs, readjusts her shawl. “We met along the highway in Concord.”

That's dangerous territory – not all the way, but if you're wise, you generally avoid it. Levi assumes Mikasa can look after herself, and still there's only so much a single person can do. He himself is no exception.

Prodding her will do no good: she'll stick to those simple answers until he gets tired of pestering her, and because he'll appear too eager, Mikasa will believe he's a headhunter or something. He can't pressure her either, not with Charlie around, and because it would be of no use anyway.

So Levi waits, lets her make her judgments. If he's read her right, that's the only opinion if he wants to get something out of her.

“I saw you together.” It actually sounds like Mikasa only remembers now; she thoughtfully tucks a strand of her glossy hair behind her ear, where it promptly slips free again. “I don't... notice that much when I'm on stage.”

Levi is shitty with compliments and even shittier with women, but he does in fact feel like he should comment on her songs, especially because they seem to be her own. “It was good. Your music.”

He says it as lamely as it sounds, yet Mikasa's almond-shaped eyes warm a little; Levi notices with some unease that she rather smiles with her eyes, much like Erwin does.

She's gorgeous, it'd be  _common sense_ to feel attracted to her if they traveled together. Even if you never make a move, who could resist stopping by in this bar to see her? He hasn't seen Erwin with her yesterday, but then again, Levi has gotten here late and Mikasa has been busy.

“Thank you. I'm not sure you could hear us over the riot in your corner.” The glint of amusement barely vibrates somewhere in her voice.

Levi scoffs. “I have good ears.”

“Yes.” She says it almost to herself, her gaze is piercing; Levi doesn't know whether he hasn't perceived it like this before or if her expression has sharpened instantly. Now her eyes resting on him seem as glaring as the robot's mechanic scan.

“You are attentive. Your senses are always keenly awake... Wherever you go, you are prepared to fight your way out. And you fear nothing for it.”

It doesn't sound like she's complimenting him, and although Levi _knows_ she's a singer at a bar and a common stage beauty, he feels strangely, uncomfortably bare – as if Mikasa's eyes and voice reach into him, scrutinize him with impersonal clearness.

And he thought he's read her.

Levi knows better than to move or react in any way even when her words feel like a challenge. After a moment, Mikasa gracefully cocks her head, more black hair slips from her shoulder. There is a tiny scar on her cheekbone that Levi sees only now, it's pale and straight like it's been made with a very sharp blade.

“I chose to stay,” Mikasa continues, as if Levi asked, “because I wanted to. Charlie needed someone to entertain guests and I wanted a stage.” She doesn't look like someone who really enjoys limelight, but Levi has figured by now that she isn't easy to pinpoint. “If Charlie asked you to work for him, it's not a bad deal. It hasn't been for the past four years.”

There it is again, that pesky assumption that Levi means to find work around here, especially for that robot. Levi puts his hand over his glass, grasping it with his fingertips to idly swing it back and forth. The water inside sloshes, reminding him on the flooded streets of Boston.

“I'm staying on the road.” Or rather, off those beaten tracks. “Why's that so hard to believe?”

Yes, the wastelands are as shitty as they're dangerous, but Goodneighbor isn't the prime example of a safe haven either, and Levi isn't weak. That's why the bowler-robot is even interested in hiring him, after all.

Mikasa looks at him, quiet, unjudging. “Because it's good to travel with someone after you've been alone,” she replies, “and yet there are people you better only share a part of the way with. Before you get drawn in.”

She slides from her stool again, casually combs a few strands of hair over her scarred cheek. “You're welcome to visit again tonight. I'll get you any song you want.”

For a second, she transforms back into the chanteuse with her alluring, mellow voice hinting everything and promising nothing; upon hearing it now, Levi remembers how it drifted into the music and put a glow to the room.

Yes, this is the place for her. But if she hadn't stayed here, she apparently would have chosen another settlement. Stopped traveling with Erwin for, what reason, avoid being _drawn in_? Into what?

Now he knows something, and it agitates him more than before.

 

By evening, Levi is pissed beyond reason and just wants to leave here.

The walls are everywhere, the permanent presence of others, dangerous others, so close by grates on his nerves and on top of it all, he's not even sure why he stays. What others say has never bothered him, but then again, he's never been anyone at all. No close ties, and Levi has never met anyone who's recognized him clearly from the Combat Zone or another place.

If he left now, people would recall at most that he can hold his drink, that he's polite to prostitutes and that he got to talk to chat with the bar singer and even got a smile from her – that'd be all.

But if he stays the few days Erwin has asked of him, he'll be The Guy Who's With Erwin Now, he might even get a name, and he'll get tangled up in whatever that blond does. He's bound to be: this world lives off exploiting weaknesses, dealing low blows and deceiving for any gain.

Levi doesn't doubt he can handle shit, though why would he? That question remains open until the evening, and by then he's testy to be thinking about it so much. Not that there's much else to do, so there's that.

He has thoroughly cleaned his shotgun and sharpened his blades by the time Erwin returns to his room. Yesterday, Levi has been too absorbed in the situation to really notice, but even then he's observed that the lock is shitty and Erwin hasn't installed any further security here, like he normally does.

Of course, if everyone able to survive in Goodneighbor knows him and also knows the dangers of getting on his bad side by breaking into this room, it wouldn't be necessary to secure this place. And the thought irks Levi. Traveling with someone who has purposefully built a reputation goes against his grain, it requires watching your back and maintaining efforts more than simple survival, and that's something Levi's had enough of.

Though when he meets Erwin's level gaze, it's a bit harder to put that into simple words.

The man acknowledges him with a short nod and takes the laser musket off his back, sets it onto the dresser next to the door: it's warm, Levi can see the slight glow from when it's been fired. The juncture between the barrel and turret is acting up again – Levi still doesn't know the first thing about the mechanics of an energy weapon, but if you swing the musket like a bat, it's bound to happen.

Erwin takes off his coat and drapes it over the back of the only chair before sitting down and working his boots open. Levi watches him from his place on the ledge of the open window; the cold air in his back isn't as unpleasant as the stale smell of the Hotel Rexford, and if Erwin minds his room being aired so rigorously, he doesn't let on. There's a weariness to his movements, the limping has grown more prominent the moment he's shut the door behind him.

There's a tear in Erwin's pants just above the knee, the fiber is darkened, but the bleeding itself has stopped a while ago, apparently hasn't been strong from the start. Just a scratch that possibly won't even leave a mark. No more scars on his body – either he's filthy lucky, or his regeneration is simply inhuman.

Levi doesn't want to think that.

“You sure are popular around here,” he states, his own snippy tone surprises him a little.

Erwin doesn't look up from rubbing curdled bits of blood from the leg of his pants to remove the stain, his voice is passive, doesn't pick up Levi's mood. “I like to think so.”

And what kind of answer is that? Then again, Levi hasn't even asked a question, and by now, he knows Erwin's habit to react to those indirect ones with bland statements. It's probably fair, but Levi isn't up to humoring that right now – he hisses in irritation when Erwin takes his sewing kit from his bundle, obviously done with the issue.

“Anyone I need to know about?”

At least that's a question.

“Nobody you can't handle.” Erwin selects a strong needle that can pierce the strengthened fiber of the material his clothes are made of and threads it with perlon. The naked light bulb above him flickers as he bends his head over the damage to mend it on his body.

It's natural, but not pleasant that he doesn't meet Levi's eyes then.

“Did you fuck the bar singer?”

The moment he speaks it out loud, Levi realizes that there is a spark of jealousy left, but it's not what drives him to ask: it's the fact that Mikasa is as reticent about their shared piece of way as Erwin is about his past in general, as if they've agreed on something there. A connection that, despite four years that Mikasa says have passed, is respected.

Erwin's hands still, and he looks up. Briefly and unperturbed. “Why do you ask?”

Answering a question with another is rather rare for him, and Levi stiffens. “Because I wanna know,” he grates, easily provoked by Erwin's demeanor.

The glacier in those blue eyes breathes its cold. “If that is your sole motivation, I see no reason to answer.”

Levi bristles on instinct – what the fuck?! He's told Erwin enough from his own life, and that's where he draws the line? He could make up whatever he likes, damn him, there are enough caravan guards who take sex as payment for accepting a settler along, it's considered trade. With a woman as beautiful as Mikasa, it would even be considered _mandatory_.

But discretion is rare. Nonetheless, Levi would appreciate silence over their tryst as well, simply because it's nobody's fucking business what he does and with whom. Just... because.

He can still work himself into a snit and leave – he can always leave, and after Mikasa has practically advised him to do just that, it wouldn't even be reasonable.

There is a tie of something, though, and Levi is not quite ready to give it up. He can try to approach the reason Erwin is so cautious, and he has to admit that Mikasa has been right about something at least: it can be good to not be alone.

He sighs, and it's a gruff sound of defeat.

“Forget it.”

Erwin has already returned to his mending, sewing the tear shut with clean, even stitches; he can probably close flesh the same way; some of Levi's scars probably wouldn't look as ugly if they had been stitched with steady hands and a minimum of care.

Levi doesn't like where that thought leads. He slips from the ledge and closes the window as an afterthought, leaving is all he's interested in for now.

“Are you free tomorrow afternoon?”

Erwin pretends he might be busy again – or he guesses correctly that Levi has to leave this place soon to avoid severe cabin fever and isn't likely to return in time: his orientation in the ruins of cities is plain shitty.

Levi scoffs and eyes the blond with a hint of disdain. “Asking me out?”

Erwin slightly tilts his head in answer. “I'd like to take you somewhere. Not far.”

“That doesn't answer my question.” What Levi wants to know is not whether Erwin has emotional motives – the bastard doesn't talk about personal stuff and they've already had it off anyway – but whether this is bound to drag him into anyone's focus. Levi really doesn't want any more attention, and he surely doesn't mean to get roped in for some job. Not that he'd mind the work or the pay itself, it's the questionable fame that makes him uneasy.

Erwin doesn't bat an eyelid over Levi's tone; if he retains any anger from being asked about Mikasa, he doesn't show it. Though for Erwin, a new topic generally means a new approach and a neutral mind – how he does it, Levi can't fathom, and he certainly doesn't want to learn it.

“Yes.”

Levi bristles at the word that can simply state his own words again – that this was not an answer – or confirm that this invitation is somewhat interpersonal. He hates to be toyed with, and he's not used to Erwin trying that bullshit on him. Nothing has _changed_ , after all.

“I'm not free,” Levi flatly refuses, doesn't pretend to consider. He needs to get out of this settlement after all, it's literally driving him up the walls to stay cooped up in here.

Erwin cuts the thread and examines his work with an appraising eye, then carefully replaces his tools. “How about the evening after that?” As if Levi had never rejected him.

Aside from the fact that nothing is any clearer now – Levi still has no idea what exactly he's being asked out for – the prospect of staying two more days at all is dreary. Yes, the Hotel has washrooms that are only used by everyone who lives on the same floor, not everyone in the whole town, and he may have considered to go and listen to Mikasa in earnest later today. But two more days is an eternity compared to what Levi usually tolerates, especially in a violent place like this.

It's not the violence, he knows. The Combat Zone was just as bad. It's Erwin's shadow that makes him so uncomfortable.

“How long are you planning to stay,” he squeezes it through his grit teeth, the questioning intonation is completely absent.

“Until I can take you to the Memory Den.”

Levi remembers the old theater across the street – since the Combat Zone was also located in a building with that purpose, he has given it a wide berth. Besides, it's obviously a brothel with all those red curtains and women floating around.

He narrows his eyes; by now Levi has reached the door, his hand is on the handle. “You wanna tell me something?”

Something in the lines of 'you could learn from them', and he'll give Erwin a few new bloody holes to stitch...

There is a flicker of some emotion in Erwin's eyes, his stern face. It's too brief to place it, Levi can merely recognize the glimpse of something unexpected, feels the other man's surprise on some basic level. He's learning his face, slowly.

It's a warning that he's getting too close.

“I want to repay you.”

Count on Erwin to say something baffling in any situation. Especially in the evening, though. Levi is determined to stay angry and tense, so he does, watches Erwin watch him. “For what,” he snaps, once again not a question.

“Coming here.” Erwin has put his sewing kit away, his hands rest on his thighs now; one covers the mended area along with the scratch underneath. He's not getting up, not stopping Levi in any way as if he knows what that will do to Levi's compliance.

He probably does. Fucker knows everything.

“Fuck you. What makes you think I only got here because of you?”

So yes, Goodneighbor hasn't been on his list, but not because he was scared of it – it's just not appealing, that's all, and waiting for Erwin to finish his stuff is a favor, nothing more.

Erwin regards him calmly, his face as unfriendly and cold as ever. What he thinks, _feels_ is somewhere between his voice and the clearness of his eyes, and it makes Levi both uneasy and a bit tingly that he's able to sense it at all.

“I want to think that.”

The dry edge is unexpected and Levi feels his irritation fray. Not that he wants it to, it simply does that. Good, reliable anger, where does it go?

Levi lets go of the door handle at last, but makes a show of dragging his feet instead of walking directly over to Erwin. He's not used to being so still, he tells himself – he's usually on the road all day, and now all that unused energy has to go somewhere.

The chair creaks in protest when Levi's weight is added, Erwin himself gives no such sign of dismay when his damaged leg is burdened. He gazes up at Levi with a somewhat inquiring fashion, his hands rest above the crests of his hips but don't move anywhere yet.

And although Levi isn't as impatient as yesterday, he acknowledges that this isn't a position he'd like to remain in for talking. He can try that, too, like the drawing-out-thing, later.

_Later?_

He huffs, rolls his eyes. Whatever the Memory Den is, he can walk in and out and let Erwin make of that whatever he likes. “Fine, 'm coming.”

“Fighting over everything,” Erwin says, not without warmth. Levi feels the corners of his mouth twitch but fights – yes, he has to – the smile, small as it may be. “It's what I'm good at, remember?”

It's too late that night when he realizes he has forgotten to tell Erwin he wasn't meaning to stay at his room, and by then, Levi is in no mood to act consequent, get dressed and leave.

He can always do that tomorrow.

 

The Memory Den is not a brothel.

Levi doesn't know whether he should be relieved or frustrated that now he has to actually look around since he has no reason not to. Instead of whores, there are these... machines, like large capsules that people rest in, seemingly detached from the world. It smells like chemicals because this whole town does, but people around don't seem higher than normal.

There are rooms behind the old stage where the actors used to prepare for the show, and more machines. The woman greeting the guests – the one Levi has been so sure was a prostitute – smiles at him as if he were some cute child stumbling in with a bouquet of flowers. It's disturbing that she does so without taking notice of Erwin,so maybe she actually greets everyone like this. The taffeta of her black, tight dress rustles as she steps up to Levi.

“Welcome, darling! Your first time, is it not?”

She's not that young but aged well, her smile dims the wrinkles slowly forming around her eyes and red lips. She reaches out to take Levi's hands and he barely controls the urge to rip them away; her skin is soft, like she uses some sort of cream, her dark nails trace the insides of his palms.

“You must have collected such marvelous memories!”

That's certainly one way to put it. Levi tries to pull his hands away when the woman already lets go, though she keeps her hands in the air; like she means to touch him again.

“Hanji, we have a new guest! Get him wired up before he changes his mind, will you?”

Levi resists glancing around for Erwin because he will _not_ show any insecurity at some woman calling him darling. Absolutely not.

Another woman appears at that; younger and a lot more soberly dressed, in a spotty lab coat and jeans, her glasses are smeared with something greasy Levi doesn't want to see up close. Luckily, she looks through him and at the older woman while tugging strands of long, uncombed auburn hair into the clip.

“I keep meaning to tell you we're booked out, Carla,” Hanji replies with a tired note; Levi notices a hint of Irish accent.

The older woman named Carla gives her a dazzling smile that seems to do little to change her mind. “I said it's alright, yes? A new spirit!” She seems to remember Levi at that and flashes him another smile. “The Memory Den is very discreet, you can ask anyone.”

Not right now, can he? Levi crosses his arms and fixes his stare on Hanji – she doesn't smile, so he deems her more sensible. “What exactly are you gonna do with me?”

Hanji raises her eyebrows behind her dirty glasses. “You booked without knowing that, laddie?”

Levi isn't going to point out that this hasn't been his idea at all, just stares at her until she sighs. It's a weary sound that speaks not of fatigue, but of long, deep frustration. It makes her seem older than Carla, and Levi can tell she feels like it, too.

Everyone here has a history that needs erasing.

“In short, these memory launchers,” she points at the large machines in the hall and the rooms, “allow you to relive any memory you want. Trust me, _relive_ is literal.” Maybe there used to be enthusiasm in her voice, because it sounds like she's said those words many times before. As if they are a precious secret that feels hollow now.

Levi can see why people would be appealed: relive memories of chem highs, sex or fights again without any risk – and that's what makes it seem bland to him, but Erwin seems to care. Maybe it's an important gesture for him, possibly even a gift. And it means they'll leave this settlement sooner, so Levi thinks he can deal with a little nostalgia.

He looks around and spots the other man gazing at a faded poster without much interest, because he immediately senses Levi's attention and turns his back on the advertisement. Carla smiles at him, too; if she's intimidated by him, she hides it perfectly.

“It's like you hate coming here alone, darling... Do you want to wait here or-”

“I'll come along.” Erwin slightly bows his head in Carla's direction, though in apology for interrupting her or for his words, Levi can't tell. “The launchers are a bit overwhelming the first time.”

Hanji snorts at that. “Being locked up in a cube without a gun is, you mean.”

Levi hasn't thought about that point until she mentions it and can't help glancing at the machines, big as old refrigerators; mobile coffins that indeed make you easy prey, as the people inside seem to be dazed and unaware of their surrounding.

If Erwin offers to watch his back, then yes, that is... appreciated.

“Our security is very good,” Carla tells him without noticeable offense. “Your memories won't leave your head, the brain scans Hanji makes are solely for control. Still, if you feel uncomfortable...”

Fuck his brain scans, he's worried about someone shooting him in the head rather than what happens inside his skull – and if Erwin has an eye on him, that's fine.

Hanji inspects her nails, which are dark with something that looks like machine oil; for a split second, Levi can see the glimpse of thin, white scars on her fingertips. “Furthermore, nobody touches this place. Tis kind of holy. Come along, I don't have all night.”

She avoids looking at Levi now, lips pressed together. It hardens her features, the bump on her nose and the pointy chin even more until there is something haggard about her – although despite that, she could be quite attractive. Hanji turns without waiting for an answer to disappear in one of the rooms, and Erwin follows at a slower pace.

Carla touches Levi's hand again, and this time he can't suppress flinching.

“Doctor Zoe is very good – and what she says is true, this is a place of peace. I hope you don't worry.”

What she says is as much reassurance as it is a gentle warning: that Levi will see consequences if he in turn decides to rough this house up. Although he sees nobody from the Neighborhood Watch around, he doesn't doubt it. Two women around here aren't safe if they don't set up their own rules.

The spark of jealousy creeps up again when Levi remembers how Carla mentioned Erwin doesn't come _alone_. Who else does he bring? Obviously not Mikasa, since she lives across the street – the Memory Den could hardly be new for her.

But he doesn't ask. He just nods his thanks at Carla and passes her, the faded red carpet still feels soft under his soles and the warmth engulfs him. If the sight of a theater didn't set his nerves on edge that much, he'd probably feel comfortable.

It's the last room on the corridor, decorated with faded posters that list the dates and times of performances from two-hundred years ago and have been scribbled over. The wallpaper's old silk is flaking off, and the small radio in the corner is struggling to fill the room with classic music.

The doctor – it really is hard to guess her age – has already opened the glass shell of the memory launcher: there is a mostly clean, cushioned seat imbedded, the user is meant to rather lie than sit. The motor hums quietly, then rattles as Hanji types numbers into the control panel on the side.

“Take your coat off,” she instructs without looking at Levi. “I'd ask you to leave the metal, too, if it weren't useless. At least discard the lead, it messes with the sensors.”

Levi's eyes are still fixed on the smooth metal plate between backrest and head cushion: it's no bigger than a matchbox and slightly curved, shining with some sort of lube or grease.

He sheds his coat and throws it at Erwin before putting his shotgun aside and strapping a padded bit of armor from his back, a thin slab of lead that has warded off bullets for a while now. Despite her ignorance before, Hanji watches him with a piercing clearness now – she opens her mouth to say something when Levi straightens again, but then closes it without a sound. Erwin doesn't seem to notice, he sits down in a dusty plush chair and shoots the radio a curious glance.

Gingerly, Levi lets himself sink onto the cushion of the memory launcher: it feels like stretching out on a canvas chair, but with no sky above him. Instead, the metal slab touches the back of his neck, nestling itself into the dip of his vertebrae.

“The sensor reads the electrical currents in your brain and spinal canal. As soon as I close this, you can fixate on every memory you like... But you're on alert now, so the air inside the launcher is infused with mild sedatives to relax you. Makes it easier to focus on something.” Hanji briefly touches his wrist to feel for his pulse, then corrects something on the small monitor – it seems she talks to it rather than to Levi.

“Once you've decided on a memory, press the button on the right armrest and the launcher will start it; it's like a tape, you can relive it till you've had enough or cancel it and choose something new. The maximum time inside a memory launcher is five hours, then the lid opens automatically and the engine stops. You may experience dizziness, imbalance or sight disorder in the first minutes after waking up. If you want to exit, use the wheel above the headrest to open the launcher manually or beckon for Erwin to do it. He knows the procedure.”

The last sentence sounds cynical and brittle. Erwin doesn't even look up when his name is mentioned, and Hanji utters a rough snort before she rises again. There is nothing soft and female in her sharp features, and Levi feels strangely scanned by her bloodshot eyes. He has assumed the doctor is a woman because of the smooth cheeks, long hair and the relatively clarion voice, but he's not even sure anymore.

“Are you ready?”

It seems more than ever like a waste of time, but Levi _is_ a little curious nonetheless. Forcing his stiff muscles to relax a little, he leans back into the cold metal and the smooth cushions. “Yeah.”

He glances at Erwin, who just now looks up and meets his eyes. His expression is unreadable, the way it always is, and that's odd. He insisted that Levi uses this idiot machine, shouldn't he show some kind of, well, satisfaction?

The blond nods at him, just slightly, as Hanji proceeds to close the lid. Levi fights to stay still despite the enclosed space, he watches Erwin watch him through the glass, searches for signs of alarm-

There are none. That calms him more than it should. It's probably those sedatives the doctor was talking about. Levi breathes in and forces himself to relax, his eyes drift shut on their own accord.

 

It's the strangest feeling: he can flip through his own memories like pages of a book.

The old ones are just glimpses he can't remember well, probably his childhood that seems like nothing he wants to review in detail; there are likely reasons it's not present to him. The fingers of his mind simply float on to ghost over past years, select one of his fights in the Combat Zone – just to recall the feeling.

Levi nearly jerks awake when the memory launcher in turn catapults him back into the cage, _with the audience screaming and banging against the metal bars. The air is hot and smoky, his head is pounding furiously and there is blood trickling down from his temple. But he doesn't show pain or weakness. He can't. His opponent has a board wrapped with barbed wire and Levi's sole focus is on that. The leather harness is soaked with sweat and stings on his skin and the iron knuckles have chafed his palms. None of it matters, his mind is empty and thrumming with energy. The moment he charges, sees the startled glint in the other man's eyes at his speed and agility despite the hit, he knows he wins, he can triumph-_

Levi pulls himself away from that memory before it fully drags him in. He knows the rush of a fight, but he can also feel his ever-alert brain picking up the injuries it thinks he sustained, forming the ache of tired muscles and a sharper pain in his head. And reliving a victory is not the same as winning it.

There are other memories. The first nights on his own in the wastelands, in permanent danger and yet free in every way, finally. _The huge sky above him, sprinkled with stars as he clutches his gun but still can't help staring up. The air is cold and fresh and has him shivering. He feels inferior in a good way, like he's climbed up here and now is something more, not a tool, another dog in a bailey. Everything he does is solely for himself, no one else benefits or suffers from something Levi does. He carefully sinks back into the yellowish grass and thinks the stars look like eyes, but they don't watch him. They don't care. That's good – he's had an audience for long enough. He can wonder what else he wants-_

It's a good memory, a peaceful one, though Levi wonders whether he needs it for hours. It's then that he remembers something that's been on his mind: it's sappy and he is dismayed by its irrelevance, and yet his brain grasps for it. And Levi just goes with it.

_The Daytripper envelops him, casts a glow on everything inside of him – it's hard to describe, even the beating of his heart has something velvety, his body is a great entity. As he leans against Erwin's back and stares up, everything is foggy and comfortable._

_And then Levi waits for them to talk._

_Somewhere in his mind, he's aware that he's soberly reliving a memory on drugs, and it's the oddest feeling. He can't change his point of view, everything repeats exactly as he remembers – the memory launcher can't create from fantasy. Still, his rational thinking diffuses as they speak. The memory of a high, combined with a situation of what, peace?_

_Levi can't really fill those words with meaning. They're fancy and awkward, and he's not into that._

_Though for now, he'll take them along._

 

The memory launcher opens with a soft creak, and Levi blinks. He's a bit drowsy and unoriented, like he's waking from light slumber, and his brain feels sort of mushy – Levi shakes his head to clear it, then realizes he hasn't opened the machine manually, so it must have been five hours.

Waste of time. Then again, his mind apparently can't tell the memory of a high from a real chem-high, so he's actually pretty fine right now.

Erwin looks up from a yellowed newspaper – information travels slow around here, and it's hardly trustworthy at that. He doesn't look like he has moved a lot in the past hours; it's not surprising. Levi has expected him to stay here and watch his back, no matter how safe the Memory Den is supposed to be, and he did. It's the basic level of trust they've established so far, and Levi tells himself it's just the illusion of drugs that makes his spine tingle. He sits up – as the doctor said, there's a bit of a dizzy blur at the edges of his vision – and shakes his head, then slides from the seat to reclaim his coat and weapons. His brain supplies him with a lightness in his movements and a silky softness to everything he touches, even the hum of his voice in his throat seems harmonic. Like one of those big, stringed instruments Mikasa's band uses. Levi can't quite remember what they call it.

“You didn't tell me.”

Does he imagine the tiny wince Erwin makes? Probably. Maybe he was dozing a little; it must be past midnight now, and this room is warm and relaxing. Guilty as charged.

Levi ignores – or tries to ignore – the exhilarated momentum that comes close to giddiness and decides against scolding the other. Because he's that nice and they're leaving Goodneighbor anyway. Snagging his coat from the nearby table while sitting, he raises his eyebrows at Erwin; it's meant to be stern, but it likely comes off as playful.

“That Kokomo-thing you mentioned.”

Erwin lightly cocks his head; it takes him a short moment to make the connection, it seems. And when he does, the surprise in his face is fleeting, yet genuine. “That,” he replies quietly.

_That._ It's fucking irrelevant, and Levi doesn't know if he would have admitted going back to that memory if he hadn't been feeling high – he doesn't even know why he wanted to remember. Except that Erwin is so secretive about everything that knowing his daydream seems important. Maybe it's because Levi doesn't dream of the general 'better place', he can't imagine that. Reality is rooted deeply in his mind, perhaps that's why chems are the better alternative for some peace.

“Let's go get drinks,” Levi suggests easily, his body is rested although his brain is tired, and he's in no mood to sleep. Might as well enjoy this filthy place and leave around noon.

He gets up, the dizziness is darkening the corners of his vision but not his head. When Erwin rises as well, Levi grins for a moment. “Maybe the singer knows that song, if it's jazz. Or we can wait for the jukebox to take over.”

To be honest, he doesn't care: as long as he gets some action and can revel in the misconceptions of his brain, he's fine with anything. And there's the prospect of traveling again, getting out of Boston and to... wherever, they haven't discussed that. It's okay to find out a few hours in the future.

Erwin's eyes are bright and intense, a sole focus that has nearly physical weight. Levi feels it as he shoves the shotgun back into his belt and turns to face him. His reflexes are relaxed enough not to flinch when a hand comes up and surprisingly cold fingers brush his temple. They don't specifically touch a scar this time, only his skin, and Erwin looks like it's the only thing he wants to do.

“Let's not,” he says, his voice hoarse and thick in a way Levi hasn't heard him speak before.

It's unfamiliar. Erwin is in perfect control, even when they fool around; if he slackens the reins, it's because he chooses so.

But now it feels like he can't help this, and it makes Levi pause. Insecure, possibly. He huffs in amusement, tries to shrug his observation off. “You wanna fuck again?”

Not that he'd mind. He's curious about that song, but it's not like he'll forget again, and Erwin's room is secluded, dry and relatively safe – in the wastelands, that will be hard to come by. Not to mention, the sex _is_ pretty good.

Erwin's lips are slightly ajar, as if he's decided he wants to answer and hasn't come up with anything, which is even more unlike him. Without thinking, Levi grasps the hand still hovering by his temple, only to have those fingers grab his in response. It's no gentle grip, quick and powerful, Erwin's fingers now hold the ball of his thumb and partly his wrist.

Levi feels a tinge of annoyance – there's no high that great that he'll let anyone boss him around, and if Erwin gets ideas just because they've fucked a little, he's-

The grim expression around Erwin's eyes eases, just for the fraction of a second, into something jaded and murky, then his grip eases, though he doesn't let go. For a moment, he has forgotten himself, it seems; broken his rule of never asking Levi to come to him, never insisting that he stays.

To hell with it. Levi ignores the knot under his breastbone and yanks his hand away, then quietly throws a heated glance Erwin's way. It's the only invitation he'll get.

 

It's different.

Levi could put his finger on it if he only could gather his wits; he can't. His lips work through silent pleas that he absolutely will not voice, simply presses the back of his head into the mattress and forbids himself sound. It doesn't work. He's sweaty and trembling and every breath has a halting tone to it that makes it seem like a sob.

Erwin's hot tongue leisurely, firmly strokes the tip of his cock, then disappears to be replaced by his mouth again, even hotter and with experimental pressure. Levi remembers whores well enough to recognize when someone is well-versed in those tricks; Erwin is not, he obviously does not do this often, and it's his diligent precision, his utter earnest that nearly has Levi undone.

The fucker really is serious about everything, even sucking cock. Who knew there were no limits to Erwin's severity?

The tiny rasp of shaven skin grazes the sensitive skin of his tip, and Levi nearly chokes on spit when he tries to hold back a groan: the result is an ugly, gargling sound, the dreary reality that not everything is perfectly sensual – and at the same time, that realism has Levi shivering with lust. When Erwin's mouth envelops him again, he arches his back from the mattress and can't help writhing, only to have strong hands insistently push his legs down again.

Levi wants to warn him, if the shitty-awful taste of a preceding orgasm hasn't already done that, and at the same time, he feels like being selfish. He screws his eyes shut and struggles to breathe slowly.

His senses are blinded, close to overload, and still there's something nagging him. He can't place it, and he doesn't want to, just wants to push Erwin's head down and bury himself somewhere in that ridiculously dangerous heat – those teeth could hurt him bad, but damn, he feels like he might _melt-_

Levi draws a strangled moan and goes rigid, slams his head back into the mattress and shudders. Erwin's hands are still on him, hot patches on his flaming skin, roaming his scars, cupping the sharp edges of his bones as if to memorize them. Like a blind man feeling the outlines of stamped letters.

The room is pitch black but to Levi, there are silhouettes, shades of gray and blue. Erwin's hand cups his softening cock, having caught the semen that would have spilled over them both. Knowing where his mouth has been nonetheless, Levi proceeds to turn on his stomach, fine with sex but not with kisses.

Erwin's other hand on his hip stops him, although Levi feels there's not enough force in his grip to literally hold him down.

“Don't.”

That raspy edge in Erwin's voice sends a strange shiver down his spine. The single sound is too short to make much of it; it doesn't sound pleading and not like a command either, and spotting anything in between is hard for Levi with the afterglow of orgasm still speeding along his bones. He manages a grunt that's none too inviting, but the hand remains on his hip, insistent.

The room is dark for normal eyes, so even if they face each other, Erwin can hardly see him; it's not entirely impersonal, yet detached enough for Levi. He simply wants to hear it, for some reason he wants Erwin to say what he _wants_ , not what he doesn't want.

So he doesn't move, his breath slowly calms to a less erratic, still aroused hiss that mingles with Erwin's deep, hungry intakes. There is a short rustle of cloth, then Levi feels a large, dry hand fan out its long fingers on his stomach, the tips nearly reaching his lowermost pair of ribs. It covers his scars and the up and down of his breath, Levi can't tell whether it's simply the afterglow or something else that makes him feel a little faint, just a bit soft around the edges.

Yes, he can be soft around Erwin. He doesn't have to be, but he can allow it.

“I want you to face me,” Erwin murmurs above him, the weight of his gaze is as physical as his hand on Levi's abdomen. It makes Levi close his eyes and feel both.

“Have it your way,” he grunts, meaning to sound gruff and yet it comes off as rough, slightly bashful in his own ears. He doesn't fuck while facing anyone, and if he tolerates it, he has to remember that this is Erwin, and that... changes things.

That man touches the side of his neck and says nothing, and not even Levi can read his mien; there is something wistful in that caress and it twists his gut. Levi swallows and without thinking, he bows his head to hold that hand between cheek and shoulder for a second.

Then, simultaneously, they begin to move, almost frantically. None of them stops until they have burned all energy and every single question lingering, turning feelings of confusion and insecurity to ash.

 

Levi feels that Erwin is awake.

It's not the way a day usually starts: Erwin's deeper sleep means he either stirs when Levi rolls away from him or if something in their surroundings alarms him. Neither has happened, Goodneighbor is relatively quiet outside this room, and Levi sluggishly comes to his senses just now.

He's sore in more places than not, though not in a bad way per se, and he really wants to use the bathroom with running water as long as he has the chance; he can't leave without a thorough wash. Aside from that, it's bright day outside (as bright as days in Boston apparently get), and they need to cover some ground lest they camp somewhere close to the roads, and that's not preferable. And he's hungry and thirsty, likely because he did spend quite some energy last night.

Nonetheless, Levi doesn't immediately move.

He catches his own hesitation as something alien and hunts for the reason of such illogical behavior while his eyes remain closed and his breathing even. His head is pillowed on Erwin's arm, which presumably means it's numb by now, another hand rests above his hip as usual. The warm body behind Levi's is relaxed, motionless, seemingly asleep. Levi simply knows it's not.

There is a tickling behind his breastbone – it's not pleasant. Determined to return to normal behavior, Levi snaps his eyes open and shoves the hand from his side to get up. There's a bit of lingering dizziness that might come from the memory launcher or just his empty stomach, and admittedly a short twinge of pain up his spine that he doesn't really regret.

He doesn't mind having lingered in this town as much as he should, Levi finds. There's some sort of idiocy getting to him, he can sense it coming on like a flu and it's comparably uncomfortable – perhaps Mikasa meant that when she said that he ought not to travel with Erwin for long. He picks up his clothes to pull them on loosely enough to cross the corridor and enter the bathroom, yet pauses long enough to look back to the bed. It's stupid, but he does it. He _has_ been a bit rude whilst getting up.

Erwin hasn't moved much, his upper hand slowly rubs in circles over the previously numb arm and he blinks. His hair is mussed and there is stubble covering his jaw, as usual. What strikes Levi in the unflattering light of noon is that Erwin looks... tired.

It makes sense to be bleary-eyed after little rest for days – it's merely the fact that this usually doesn't show on Erwin. If anything, the grim lines in his face harden if he's exhausted, and there are occasional red dots from burst vessels in the white of his eyes. In some way, he generally manages to appear entirely awake despite of it.

It's probably the light.

“We're leaving, aren't we?” Suddenly, Levi is suspicious that Erwin might have changed plans and wants them to stay longer; and as much as he likes having a bathroom and fooling around to rediscover everything he's forgotten about sex, he despises the thought of remaining in Goodneighbor (or any other place) for longer than this.

Erwin briefly closes his eyes, a tiny gesture of weariness that Levi comes to recognize as uncharacteristic for him. Then they're open again with their usual cold confidence.

“Yes.”

Levi hums, satisfied, and leaves for a systematic bath. If he sets the pace, he's fine.

 

He nearly expects some last-minute-interruption of their departure, given Erwin's dubious fame around here, but there is none. Levi thinks he's probably imagined seeing Mikasa's silhouette behind one of the windows, maybe his conscience pokes him for not coming to hear her sing once more. It's actually a bit of a pity, but he can always return. Much later, because he's had quite enough of Goodneighbor for now and can't wait to see open field again.

Erwin is quiet, the way they both always are during the day. His laser musket is slung over his shoulder, crackling now and then with static energy like it's eager for a fight. Levi has learned to ignore the weapon by now, and suddenly it wins his attention again. Its untypical life expectancy that is prolonged because Erwin keeps repairing it, and the question why he's able to do so.

His tall, nearly flawless body. His mechanical cool. His secrecy about everything, especially whom he works for. His... everything.

Levi still knows hardly anything about him, and he hasn't asked many questions up until now. After those annoying moments of insecurity when facing Mikasa or that strange doctor in the Memory Den, he has figured he can either forget about them or press for information. It's not even that important if Erwin doesn't answer those question, Levi simply needs to voice them.

When the outskirts of long since deserted Boston are behind them, he decides he may as well get it over with.

“Hey.”

Erwin doesn't slow his step – despite the weariness in his face, his limp is concealed – but his gaze meets Levi's. It's mildly attentive, like he doesn't expect anything fancy from Levi's break of silence during the travel.

He might as well.

“Are you a synth?”

For a moment, Erwin's face tenses as he puts weight on his scarred leg, seemingly not supporting him sufficiently. It interrupts his even step and slows him, mixes with a silent expression of pain.

It's not as scary as Levi thought it would be. Nothing is actually different now; he can deal with that, he knows this guy a little, even likes that bit he knows, so if he's artificial, Levi doesn't fucking _care_...

Erwin comes to a halt, his face calm and sober and impervious, much like the first time he's held Levi's gaze.

“No.”

There's only a tiny pause when Levi can't remember what he has felt then; if he has felt anything at all. Erwin doesn't need that break.

“But you are.”

And just so, everything tilts.

Levi stares up at the man, bemused, bordering on anger because it's generally an insult if someone calls you a synth; if it's a comeback, it's pretty shitty, probably the best Erwin could come up with so quickly, and still, what the fuck-

“You don't know,” Erwin says with that same calm that has alienated and fascinated Levi to the same degree since their first encounter. “Of course you don't. You are the synthetic copy of Subject Ackerman.”

“I'm not a fucking copy of anyone,” Levi replies tersely, annoyance clear now. “I get it, you're pissed at me for asking – get over it already.”

He sets to walk on, but Erwin remains standing; he makes no move to stop Levi, and that itself makes him slow down, adding to his already quickly building aggravation. “You wanna sulk or what?!”

Erwin regards him with an empty expression he hasn't bothered putting on since... a while now. His hands hang idly at his sides, and yet he's tense, just slightly more so than usual. Levi finds these little signs, and they tell him Erwin is serious.

The chill creeping up from the pit of his stomach surprises him. Sure, it's not like they'd be on the road together forever, the moment when they split ways will surely come. Though not so _soon_ , he's not quite prepared, and walking away because Erwin sticks to a shitty fixed idea out of the blue is a dumb reason if he's ever seen one.

He wouldn't have cared if Erwin was a synth. Why can't Erwin do the same, if he wants to believe it so badly?

“Your strength, your regenerative potential and the sharpness of your senses are traits you inherited from Ackerman; one of the main points of research concerning him in the first place.” There is a wooden note in Erwin's voice, like he's reciting something from his memory; for the first time, his gaze seems to go through Levi to something only he can see. “You have no memories of your childhood because there hasn't been one, albeit your brain likely correlates a few impressions and episodes of fantasy. If you searched for those in the Memory Den-”

“That's why you dragged me there?” Levi spits, temper flaring even faster now. “What kind of shit did you do to confirm your fucking crap of a theory?!”

The thought that Erwin fucked him to conduct an experiment on his own wild paranoia makes him sick in his stomach, and his face twists into a snarl of disgust.

“I watched,” the blond man replies soberly, as if this was a serious question. “I compared your behavior. It's congruent. It...” There is a tiny pause, “has been clear even before Hanji scanned you for a synth component in your skull. I was slow.”

The chill solidifies in a chunk of ice in Levi's stomach as he unwillingly remembers the visit in the Memory Den. Carla's amused remark on Erwin not coming alone. Hanji's open cynicism at Levi's ignorance about the reason for his trip down memory lane. And above it all, Erwin's startled reaction when he got out of the launcher, followed by his strange, nearly affectionate behavior.

Yes, Erwin has parted ways with him hours before this moment.

“You are a vital part of discovering what kind of research Ackerman was part of and how to stop it.”

Erwin's words make no sense, Levi can't even listen. His mind is reeling, going back to memories and finding no comfort in them. He's human, he knows he is; there is no one like him, and sure as hell he's not a copy of anyone. He's _real_.

Erwin takes a measured step towards him and that, at least, is familiar territory: Levi rips the shotgun from his belt and points it at Erwin's head. At this distance, he doesn't even need to aim, two barrels promising a messy death are enough power. They don't tremble, either; they tremble for nothing except insects.

Did Mikasa warn him of this? Suddenly, he feels like she has seen more in him than her eyes can, and he hates how this suspicion infests his mind. Nothing Erwin has said is proven, it's the babbling of an insane asshole who 'discovers' what he wants to find...

If only it wasn't so hard to look into those blue eyes and stay convinced that he's wrong. Erwin is so sure of himself, Levi hates that, too, hates-

“You are in danger. I understand your anger, but it's not an acceptable priority.” Erwin speaks so neutrally as if they've never met before, his blue eyes focus on Levi's face, not on the shotgun. It might as well not be pointed at him.

“We need to go. If you've been tracked, there is little time until someone finds the track.”

_Ackerman._

That's not him. He's not Ackerman, he's Levi; he's above average because he  _earned_ it, because he's unrelenting and stubborn and always survives, not because he's the copy of some asshole from science.

“Gimme your musket.”

Levi's throat feels arid and itchy, but speaking is no difficulty; that's a relief. He's keenly aware of his own finger on the trigger and the easiness with which he could make Erwin's heard burst in a mess of bones, blood and tissue. It's calming, allies with the stiff phrase that he is who he is, not a synth.

Erwin' eyes search him, evaluate his determination. Ironically, he did say that he 'evaluates' things for people Levi never wants to hear about. “This threat is serious. You have trusted me with your life before.”

_Before_ is so far away now. Levi doesn't want to remember that awkward kiss Erwin gave him, as if he himself knew he shouldn't. Or maybe that was show, too. He doesn't want to think.

“Lay it on the ground and step away,” his voice says, dispassionate, a slight rasp that Levi knows is the depth of his wrath. He could give a warning shot, just to show how serious he is, but he doesn't need to. Erwin knows survival, so he must sense when there is no room for negotiation.

And he does. Slowly, he takes the strap of the laser musket from his shoulder and lowers the weapon, crouching to put it on the rocky earth. His eyes never leave Levi, following the basic rule that if you appear to avert your attention, you will immediately be attacked. His movement is a little stiff, like his leg is still bothering him, and he doesn't step away at once when his hand lets go of the musket.

“You would have followed me before,” he says, “why won't you do it now?”

The irony of it briefly closes up Levi's throat with bile. He thinks he can taste acid as he lowers the shotgun just a little, sees Erwin's eyes flicker.

“Back off, or I'll cripple your other leg, too.”

There's not even sadistic pleasure at striking that sore spot – Erwin doesn't let it on, but his limp bothers him more than simply on the level of efficiency – and no satisfaction as the taller man moves away. Levi knows his arsenal, the only firearm Erwin keeps now lies between them.

The shotgun remains aimed at Erwin's head as Levi bends his knees to pick the laser musket up. From this close, not even armored fiber could stop the shells, and there is even a soft tingle along Levi's arm, like an itch to pull the trigger.

The musket is heavier than he's thought, slightly warm as if alive. It has scratches and marks, Erwin obviously owns it for a while, probably cares for it. When Levi rises again, the weight drags at his arm and his mouth is so dry his tongue feels leathery.

Again, the shotgun doesn't tremble as Levi lifts the laser musket and flings it into one of the deep, murky ponds that litter the urban hinterland of Boston – it splashes, followed by the crackling snap of the energy cells short-circuiting.

There's still no satisfaction, but the rational part of Levi's brain acknowledges the necessity of destroying the firearm: as large as it is, Erwin can fire it pretty quickly. It's all memorized, stored away in his mind and under his caution.

“I'm not Ackerman, I'm Levi,” the rough voice coming from Levi's throat growls. “And I'm fucking human.”

The voice of reason whispers to him that it's safer to shoot, at least crush a knee, but that's beneath Levi; he's damn well able to vanish without leaving a handicap in his wake, and if Erwin has any sense left, he'll turn back to Goodneighbor to replace his musket. The wastelands don't let you walk without a gun.

He'd spit out, if there was any spit in his mouth. Levi lowers the shotgun and turns, then breaks into an even run into the sparse woods and out of sight.

At least it feels like his heart has picked up its beat again.

 

Levi's mind is translucent, still as if stirring might break something he can't hold together.

He's human. He's not a copy of anyone. He's not of interest to anyone, either. The memories he doesn't have, he lacks them because he doesn't _need_ them. He's strong because he's himself, not because someone created him to be better.

_Better than anyone._

There is that time when Levi has to stop: even his strength-conserving jog eventually tires his muscles, and his senses have been alert for hours to watch out for threats in the unfamiliar surroundings. Everything has gone on autopilot, a flawless machinery –  _he's not_ – yet he needs a break. Needs to find orientation and a place to rest for a minute. Water, too, his mouth feels dry and flaky like it's full of ash.

The sky above him is gray and violet, an unpleasant mixture that Levi finds no comfort in. He has almost grown used to searching for stars as points of orientation and having Erwin do the same next to him. The asshole has better education than him, for whatever reason, and he occasionally points out a star –  _not anymore_ – for Levi to see. Just every now and then, rare enough to not feel patronized, often enough that Levi doesn't need to find a way to ask him. He hates to ask.

Synth.

The thoughts creep back the moment Levi focuses his mind instead of letting it go blank. He wants to concentrate on the stars, yet he keeps searching, increasingly desperately, for any memory before the Combat Zone. Anything he can prove happened long before that. He landed in the Combat Zone because, what, fighting in the street? Territorial fights that he stumbled into because he didn't care to respect the signs of raider groups... Or did he simply not know? Then the invitation, the cage brawls... It's alright to not remember the dates, isn't it? Few people keep track of the calendar in the wastelands. Before the Combat Zone, he has probably been doing the same shit as now.

Levi keeps staring at the sky, vaguely becomes aware that he's breathing fast; he should have calmed by now, but his lungs keep working and working, like an engine nobody has turned slower, he's no engine, synths are made of flesh and blood too, if there only was a way to know-

His vision is darkening, and Levi realizes he's not simply gasping for air, he's hyperventilating now; he feels so sick he might throw up, but his throat is so tight he fears it would choke him, his legs are trembling now, everything is trembling-

His right hand grasps his left wrist and holds it, the pain of his own grip is dull and persistent. Levi focuses on it, slows his breathing so abruptly he nearly blacks out. It works, though, stress alarms his body and quells the ugly hysteria that has paralyzed him. The sickness retreats, and his legs begin to feel steady again, his heart still races and he shivers with cold and adrenaline, but that's forgivable. He can manage now.

He's his own master.

The darkness is approaching quickly, and Levi hurries to move on. Parts of his mind feel numb, however not those he needs to find one of the cabins the inhabitants of Boston apparently used for weekend trips back in the ancient times. The roof seems a little leaky and it smells of mold, but aside from that, it's alright. The smashed windows have wooden shutters and the door is somewhat functional, the untouched, thick layer of dust tells Levi that nobody has been here in a long time. Aside from mice and spiders.

And his thoughts. The cabin doesn't need much examination, so they aren't busy for long, already trickling through his brain before he can stop them.

Why would Erwin lie to him?

Maybe he's howling mad; there are freaks who don't let it show, the real deadly kind. Though Levi trusts his instincts would have warned him, there would have been some kind of... sign. Their encounter has been random, especially the second time, and it was Levi who suggested they share a bit of the way. And even when he's no longer sure, it appeared as if Erwin did hold some kind of sentiment for him. As if he still did when he revealed his twisted belief about Levi's origin.

How can it  _not_ matter that your life isn't your own?

Levi feels tendrils of the old panic claw at his professional calm again and bars the door with a loose board, then flops down on the bare coffee table and rummages through his pack. A chemical high can buy him the time he needs to sort this out, find the explanations he wants or merely accept that Erwin is a bastard he'll forget soon enough.

There is no Ackerman in him. Not ever.

The weariness overcoming him at that is leaden and fast. Levi leans his head against the worm-holed wall, his pack still in his lap, and dares to close his eyes. His own breathing feels strangely loud, this time because he has foolishly gotten used to another person, another routine. He has always been fine by himself: this is the first time he feels a little... hollow. Alone.

But it can't matter. And it won't.

 

There is a knock on the door. Three times with two knuckles.

Levi jerks violently awake and quietly but intensely curses his idiocy. It's dark around him, a greenish glow seeps through the shutters from an electrical flashlight or something of the like. The knock has been almost careful, not the pounding of an aggressive intruder, and it's followed by silence, as if the person acts like a visitor waiting to be let in.

Levi knows he ran swift and sure, his hiding spot is one cabin among others littered in the landscape. He hasn't lit a fire or anything that could betray his presence, and he's not-

Fuck.

He's fairly sure he has let Erwin mend parts of his equipment and clothing before – since the asshole is good at that and shitty at cooking, it makes sense to divide tasks. Even after turning hostile, Levi hasn't given it any thought that Erwin might have put more into the fabric than new threads... He curses himself again and Erwin even more, then quietly draws his shotgun. The spaces between the shutters are too small to fit the barrel through, but the wood will shatter without deflecting the shotgun shell.

Levi has given his warning clearly. This time won't simply cost a functioning energy weapon.

This time he will kill.

It's a good last thought to have if you black out in the next second.

 

Levi doesn't wake from a knock, but from a low voice that, for a moment he comes to hate shortly after, makes him feel at ease. It drifts through a fog of artificial sleep somewhere dark and deep, suggesting peace when there is none.

“... laser tripwires, mostly. More than tight security, unless you expect someone with sharper senses than usual.”

“Then consider my gob thoroughly smacked that you didn't take the direct route.”

“I needed confirmation.”

“You heard his fucking _voice_ – even I knew it the moment he opened his mouth, and that was before I realized that the foul language is apparently in the genes. It was risky, and not your usual brand, too. You nearly screwed us over, Erwin.”

“It was necessary risk.”

“You owe me a bunch of fusion cores for making me run cross-country, and at least-” A low whistle through the teeth. “Look who's awake. No kidding about the resilience – that dose was enough to knock out a radstag.”

Before Levi can quite wrench his stuck shut eyes open, a blinding light pierces his lids and forces him to turn his head. He's sitting, but he can't move his hands or feet. They're numb, tied together so tightly his circulation is limited. His mouth is gluey and tastes like the bitter tang of Propofol, and an itchy spot above his clavicle suggests where it entered his body.

Something rough and rubbery touches his temple, like a thick glove. Levi can open one eye just a slit against the brightness, enough to see a long pipe in his periphery – he rams his head against the hand and clamps it between his skull and the pipe. There is a satisfying crunch of breaking glass from something in that gloved hand and an irritated huff from a voice that, thinking again, Levi has heard before.

“Make this difficult, why won't you.”

The light dims on Levi's blinded eyes, and he jerks at his arms: the joints of his shoulders blaze with pain at that, but there is absolutely no room for movement.

“Spare me the 'Told you so' – if I have to knock him out again, _you_ get to carry him. Now, feeling appreciated, Levi? We've met.”

When Levi opens his eyes, the good doctor Hanji is smiling sardonically at him. The dirty lab coat has been exchanged for a strange, baggy jumpsuit with patches of rubber and more oil stains. The brown hair is tied securely at the back of the head, the glasses now framed goggles. Hanji's face seems much harder and brisker without hair framing it and the shine of glass, there are smudges of oil on the cheeks and around the forehead, making her appear a lot more masculine now. To be honest, Levi isn't sure what the doctor is, or why he should care.

There is an injector pistol aimed at his neck right now, resting in Hanji's other hand, and behind her, leaning against a wall, Erwin.

This is a bunker of some sort: Levi can taste the staleness in the air, hear a ventilation system hum. Considering what he's heard, he's probably no longer in the cabin or even close to it, unless those two are screwing with him. Levi has no trust that they wouldn't, but the smell is different from the humidity in Boston, and the sealing he can get glimpses of looks professional. Not a civilian's basement, it seems. Public security or even military.

And those two are taking no risks. Levi can't tell what he's bound with, though he can't even wiggle, so it's something pretty solid. Erwin, too, must have an impression of what Levi is capable of, but this is more... Like he knows the limits of his ability.

_Because somebody else has the same._

Quenching the unwanted thought, Levi glares at Hanji and stays quiet.

The brown eyes sparkle with dire amusement at that. “Don't I know that grim silence,” the doctors says, changing from kneeling to squatting down before Levi. “At least, sorry, I think I know. The brain is easily deceived.”

They shrug, and Levi's eyes wander left and right. The room isn't large, yet it has two doors leading on. It has been carefully neutralized, posters have been torn from the walls, labels off lockers, every unnecessary article has been removed. There is an old desk cluttered with papers and a makeshift chemical station, both look like they haven't been used in a long time. No sounds from outside, as far as Levi can tell, and Hanji apparently is in no mood to let him search.

“Since we have an advantage in knowledge, why don't I tell you about Ackerman, now that you're all quiet and attentive?”

Giving himself more paranoia by listening to that gibberish is the last thing Levi wants, but he knows he's not being asked. Hanji knows it, too, and the mirthless smile returns. “Cruel, isn't it? Sit it out, it'll be over soon. I'm a doctor, I'm supposed to tell people that.”

Erwin tilts his head at that, but Levi doesn't want to look at him, something in the jaded ire in Hanji's eyes draws him in. They notice, and the twist of their lips becomes harsher, like they're companions in misfortune.

“There are people with above-average abilities like yours that don't show signs of radioactive poisoning or surgical modification. It's not widely known, and speculation ranges from mutants to a new race and extraterrestrial life forms.” At that point, Levi finds it hard not to snort. “What's even more interesting than the research of origins is how to use these individuals, find out what they're capable of. That's what they did with Ackerman.”

Hanji briefly looks at him, as if checking for signs of interest, then shrugs again. “His name couldn't be determined since he wasn't cooperative, but that was his mother's family name. She was already dead by the time he was... found, wherever that was. One of the many caches we haven't discovered yet. You'll laugh when I tell you the name of the project, though-”

“Hanji.”

Erwin's voice holds his usual objective demeanor and nothing more, yet it interrupts Hanji, who hasn't appeared to see a direct rank order between them. Despite that, their eyes don't leave Levi – sadly. They seem be exactly aware how cautious they must be, and it makes Levi uneasy on a level that indeed feels like they know more than him.

That shit about a secret project, though, is the usual tinfoil-hat-tale you can hear at every settlement, and does nothing to scare him. Unfortunately, Erwin seems to have sensed that, and his interruption doesn't bode well. Levi denies him the victory of glancing at him, glowers at Hanji's sharp face and the injector pistol.

“We'll play a holotape.”

Hanji's brows, darker than the unruly scalp hair, rise to an expression of surprise and skepticism. “Sure? Well, they're yours. Go wild.”

Neither treats it like a democratic decision, and Erwin has already moved from his spot on the wall to an old recorder on the desk. Levi doesn't watch him, though from the corner of his eyes he can see him opening a drawer and selecting something, then there's the clicking sound of an audiotape being inserted. Video never survived the war, but holotapes are alive and well, as they are robust and easy to handle.

The recorder makes a whirring noise, a few static cracks follow. Hanji grins wolfishly. “That B-46? Good choice. 59's the best, though.”

Erwin doesn't answer, and despite himself, Levi listens to the rustling of someone apparently adjusting the recording machine.

“ _This is... continuation B of session 46, doctor B. Hoggs speaking.”_ The voice sounds tired, then abruptly switches over to the professional cordiality Levi only knows from chem dealers. _“Your vital signs are good today, Mr. Ackerman. Did you feel any aftereffects after the adrenaline injection this morning?”_

There's no answer, not even a sound in that expectant silence. Hoggs, male, around forty, no accent, slightly over-friendly and a bit twitchy, sighs. _“Are you alright? If you need us to alter the dose, you just need to tell me. Regardless of what you seem to be convinced of, I_ am _your doctor. I care for your well-being.”_

Hanji makes a noise at that, as if they swallow a cough. Otherwise, there is only the pink noise coming from the recorder and Levi's heartbeat slowly picking up more speed. He doesn't know why, but the longer the person addressed as Ackerman remains silent, the more restless he gets.

“ _We already went through the routine this morning.”_ Another sigh, almost overly dramatic. However, Levi doesn't think the scientist is aware of that – he's not an actor, and obviously not a charismatic person. Nor does he have great sympathy for his subject. _“You seem to be unhappy and I know not how to help you. I trust you, that's why I'm here in this room with you; even after what you did to Lee, and that was not kind. But because I trust you're a good man, I see it... as a cry for help rather than malicious intent.”_

Shuffling, the rustling of clothing, as if Hoggs leans forward to the man he's speaking to. After the incident that probably included violence, Levi can hear suppressed nervousness in his voice because his act forces him to get closer to a person he knows is dangerous.

“ _I will help you. But I_ need _your cooperation. Let's restart from the basics, what's your name?”_

More silence. Before he knows it, Levi has moved his gaze from Hanji and to the recorder. It's just an old machine running on cable electricity, but from the way he instinctively feels threatened by it, it might as well be an atomic bomb.

“ _Do you remember where you were born? Your father, perhaps?”_

No answer, not even an indication of movement.

“ _Do you...”_ Hoggs hesitates, a mere moment, yet it's telling that he still feels fear when his subject is likely restrained. _“Do you yourself know why you're different?”_

Some machine in the background hums softly, and Hoggs makes a pleased, somewhat relieved noise. _“The electrodes measuring your brain activity say that you do! More explicitly, it's active in the region of the amygdala, telling me that-”_

“ _It's not enough.”_

Everything inside of Levi seems to turn into stinging, sharp ice, the blood in his veins clots to thick crystals, chafing at his bones.

The holotape's quality certainly isn't perfect, distorting voices and sounds and adding a crumbly note to every word.

But the voice that speaks is his. He feels it as keenly as if he had opened his mouth, only that this is Ackerman, their laboratory rat, a man Levi has never heard of. And now he hears, feels the commanding power of that man, his power over the situation, over another man, over his own mind.

“ _It's just not enough. You... are not good enough, you sad little shit.”_

That dispassionate tone seems to resound within Levi, terribly familiar and entirely alien at the same time. He wants to reject this, still it feels like he's listening to a recording of himself he can't remember, and that 'original'-

He's only vaguely aware of Hanji raising from their crouch, of Erwin's unwavering gaze on him. Sweat forms along his hairline, the numbness from his limbs spreads like something infectious.

Hoggs laughs, pleased to have caused a reaction and involuntarily insecure at those words. _“My, my, Mr. Ackerman, there we go! I'm glad it's suddenly me we're talking about-”_

Ackerman's voice slices through his words as if he hadn't spoken at all. _“You want that success so badly – it's the only thing you can talk to her about. Impress her. You imagine it every time you turn the recorder on, the stench of your pitiful longing disgusts me. Her, too. She's watching through the mirror right now, shuddering at the thought of you wanting her; did you notice how she flinches when you call her, how she always makes sure she's put on gloves before you enter the room, before you touch anything with your filthy hands? You're not even man enough to be irrelevant to her, Hoggs.”_

Ackerman is merciless and precise, Levi senses his hate, his pride, his deep wrath at being caged, the same wrath he himself felt in the Combat Zone. And there is the cruel satisfaction of causing pain, biting back, the same satisfaction as setting fire to the arena in an old theater.

It feels like the recording is reaching into his very core and tearing it out.

Hoggs can't control himself, the attack is too well-aimed, the sting too angry, but Levi can't make out the words, as the pounding of blood in his ears is too loud. Ackerman doesn't answer anymore; he knows he doesn't need to, something crashes in the room, and graciously, the holotape is turned off.

The silence is deafening.

“There was hope that a replication of Ackerman's genetic code would unveil what he kept secret, along as a first prototype soldier. But his resistance to chemicals is something you have inherited as well.” Erwin's voice is calm and matter-of-fact, and Levi cannot tell whether he's infuriated or glad to hear it. He can't, honestly can't. At this point, there is nothing he can tell, his mind is so empty that everything only... echoes.

“Later recordings show that you were sedated for transport, then metabolized the drug far quicker then expected and escaped. Your trail was lost shortly after, despite intense search.” A pause, a tiny change in Erwin's voice that Levi can't place. He can't even begin to try.

“I know the holotapes. Ackerman's voice and behavior. Meeting you was a coincidence. I may have hesitated to realize who you are.”

And who is he? At that moment, the question is honestly unanswerable to Levi. There is no panic attack this time, no fit of hysteria: it's not like him to act like that, and then everything stumbles over the gaping hole of what is _like him_ , when everything he is is... Ackerman.

“What happened to him.” The rough voice doesn't manage an inquiring intonation, he can't focus his gaze on Erwin although his eyes look in his direction. Hanji turns away from him for the first time, but Levi can't quite remember what he was supposed to do in that case.

Erwin holds his brittle gaze with cold sureness.

“He's dead.”

Levi doesn't know why it means something to him, but it does. It hurts. It hurts as much as the moment the chain blade nearly sawed his ribcage open, and the pure physicalness of that agony shocks him – horror is not supposed to feel like this, what kind of pain is that?

The air leaves his lungs in a pitiful wheeze, blurs the edges of his vision with dark smudges. Levi tries to breath in again, but the constriction of his arms is too tight, his chest can't lift and he's numb. Not even afraid.

The bindings release him, and Levi topples over – for once, his reflexes fail him, and his limp arms couldn't support him if he weren't paralyzed.

Expect Erwin's hands stop him, hold him upright and force him to meet his eyes. It's commanding, his blue irises drill nails into Levi's skull, tackle his fraying thoughts in their place.

“He committed suicide by biting his own wrists open,” Erwin tells him with frightening quietness. “I know you have never considered taking your life. So Ackerman hasn't, either. Unless he found out what his role in the research conducted with his genes was, and it was grave enough that he deemed his own ongoing life too dangerous for this world.”

He lets Levi process it, at least he's silent, just keeps his hands on his shoulders until Levi summons the presence of mind to straighten by himself again.

One thing is true, he can piece it together: he has seen despair for long enough, has seen others give up, but he hasn't been tempted to do the same. It always seemed like the easy way out, an idiotic waste – let this world triumph over him, and if he hasn't allowed that in the Combat Zone, why should something as abstract as reality in general emerge victorious?

He's not even sure he could kill himself for humanity, a race that's mostly insane and self-destructive, but Erwin seems so _convinced_ , firmly believes that he's capable of that act of selflessness. And it's tiring to argue.

At that, Erwin unties his ankles, momentarily bowing his blond head and letting Levi out of his sight. Hanji probably still aims their injector pistol, yet it's Erwin's artery that would be sliced by the time they shoot.

“Hanji can put you in touch with people who take synths on changing routes out of the Commonwealth. A surgery would lessen the risk more, but it's relatively safe in general.”

Hanji snorts abrasively. “Nothing's ever safe with the Institute, and that's the prime suspect for shit involving synths. No offense, laddie – wanna hear the promised joke to lighten things up?”

Levi absentmindedly rubs his wrist, only half-aware he's being addressed. The hollow pain in his chest is still there, giving an eerie thumping with every heartbeat, but the strange expression of utter faith in Erwin's face roots him somewhere in this situation.

This man has never met Ackerman, it seems like he's only learned about him after his suicide. And yet he, who has nothing aside from holotapes and maybe some other documentation, is so certain he knows him; certain enough to put his life on the line for something Ackerman judged horribly dangerous. If Erwin's belief is even true, if the suicide didn't happen during a psychotic fit induced by drugs.

There's so much foolishness. So much risk. How can he be so sure?

“Ignoring me, aren'tcha? The project's name was _Leviathan_.”

Even though Hanji pronounces it slightly differently from Levi's name, his head jerks up in response, and they grin wryly at him. “A nearly almighty creature from the Bible and some myths, not gonna bore you with self-important scientists giving their projects megalomaniac names. Fact is that Ackerman never spilled his real name, and though you _should_ know, it's more likely you chose one of his 'safe' memories and considered it your name. As Erwin said, Ackerman possessed extraordinary control of his subconsciousness.” They click their tongue, apparently unaware of Levi's dark stare or ignoring it. “That knowledge is somewhere sealed in you, I believe. Either way, you won't be let be.”

Something about the matter of course both of them use to decide what Levi will or won't do raises his spirit of contradiction; Levi lets his hands sink to his thighs, experimentally closes his fists. Now that the circulation has been restored, he quickly regains his strength, and a short look tells him that Erwin is still kneeling before him, but hasn't replaced his laser musket.

Fighting is an easy goal, he can do that. Figuring out what to do now is hard, violence is simple and welcome.

“I'll go where I fucking want to go.”

Levi knows he's strong enough to overpower them, if he plays his cards right and judges correctly that Hanji isn't primarily a fighter. That confidence, whether it's borrowed strength or not, makes it seem like the only actual option.

Hanji scoffs in a 'Were you even listening'-matter, but it's Erwin who speaks. Still on his knees in front of Levi, the thick cable they've used to bind Levi's ankles in his hands, he looks at Levi in his sober, intense way that has no room for anything beside the aim of his gaze. There's no judgment there, no expectation. Erwin never seems to expect anything from him, based on the sheer model of someone he doesn't even know personally.

“You could turn your back on what is essentially the case of your own murder?”

He sounds neutral, as if Levi may have a good reason to do that, and like that reason will be explained now. He gives him a sort of credit Levi doesn't even want.

“I'm not dead.” The tremble in his voice is something Levi hasn't seen coming, and it surprises him. “There _is_ no murder.”

He doesn't know whether it's quite that simple, but he can't be sidetracked now; he needs to concentrate on finding a way out of here.

Erwin regards him with magnetic calm, maybe searching for something that matches his inner concept of Ackerman, that scathing precision and wrath, and Levi can't help wondering for a split second if he sees any of it. He simply bares his teeth in a silent snarl, adds: “If you're not gonna lock me up here, suck it up.”

“There might be control devices in the synth component inside your brain,” Hanji warns, aggravated. “We either need you out of the Commonwealth or somewhere under control, and if I need to lock you up to keep my head, I-”

There's pain bleeding into their voice, barely noticeable, but Levi hears it, and more importantly, he sees the injector pistol lower slightly as a result. It's the opening he's been waiting for – his instincts grab it, gear into each other with the speed of a reflex. He leaps up and raises his fist in mid-motion, sees Erwin jerk up as well; too slow compared to Levi, though, especially since his scarred leg doesn't let him rise as smoothly from a kneeling position.

Levi slams his fist against Hanji's jaw and knocks them to the ground, tears the pistol from their hand and hits their head against the concrete floor. The syringe is mere inches above one of the brown eyes, Levi has pushed the goggles up to bare it. An injection of strong sedative practically into the eye-socket and therefore into the brain is as lethal as a bullet.

“Don't,” Levi growls, and Erwin freezes. Beneath him, Hanji takes a strained breath against Levi's weight on them, but there is no resistance.

“Sorry,” they whisper weakly, “that did sound like Hoggs just now, didn't it? Or like any other bastard on the tape, Wetherell or Turner or-”

“Shut up.” Levi knocks his hand against their lower jaw, making them wince as the tongue gets caught between teeth grinding on each other. The names ring no bells, at least that much is sure, and there is a defeated note in Hanji's words that could even mean they speak the truth.

But regardless of that, Levi doesn't want it. No help, no sympathy, no remorse, absolutely nothing from them. He only wants his freedom, and if he kills them both, he can get it, be done with their madness...

His murder. Ackerman's murder. Revenge for someone who probably never wanted him to exist, or for himself? Levi wants to take revenge on _someone_ , and those two are easy, he can take out Erwin as well, cut his throat and leave him to rot.

“Levi, look at me.”

Levi doesn't. He refuses to. He sees Hanji's eyes wander to Erwin, though, in some way they overcome the instinct-driven compulsion to stare at the weapon threatening their life. Their eyes are clear, no tears, only a few burst blood vessels and a deep, tired trait. If there is fear of death, it's hidden will.

He's not afraid of Erwin. Levi slightly turns his head so he can watch Hanji from the corner of his eye, pull the trigger any moment they move. His other hand moves over their throat, pressing down enough to earn a strangled sound.

Erwin is unmoved. He, too, shows no fear for Hanji's life or his own, although he must know the danger for himself is great and grows greater with each second that he doesn't run for the door. He has the advantage of knowing this place, and his legs are longer. He could make it. His hands, Levi notes, are empty, even when the cable would have been an acceptable makeshift-weapon for now. Instead they hang at his sides, seemingly relaxed.

“You cannot become the man you were before,” he says, not as sternly as before; Levi struggles to place the tone of his voice, something passionate with a clean rage that has always made him seem robotic.

“It is my fault that your life as it was has ended. But it's not my fault that you were created this way, nor Hanji's. It's not even your own.”

Levi forces his hand down with more strength, feels Hanji's windpipe tremble and open their mouth in a futile try for air.

Erwin doesn't even flinch. His eyes are bright and blazing and utterly focused on him, as if Levi were the only shape he can even see.

“It's the fault of someone who cares nothing for human life and who, right this moment, continues research for a purpose that can and will endanger a world that is already struggling to survive, exploiting the belief that we are lucky to be alive, that nothing can change for the better. Most people aren't strong enough to take up the fight, but you are. You are strong enough to end this.”

By now, Hanji involuntarily begins to writhe, body reacting to the lack of oxygen with panic. Levi lifts the injector pistol a bit before it ends piercing their eye accidentally, then holds the plastic grip tighter. He needs to aim, he needs to shoot at Erwin, stop his words, but his arm won't react, nothing does.

Erwin presses his lips together in a pale line, his thick brows draw together in an expression of anger, even fury turned inwards at something Levi can't see and finds himself straining to perceive.

“You can't forget this now.” Erwin's voice is sharp as a whip, striking a point within Levi that is still raw, reeling from the shock.

“You can run away for a while, but you can't come free. Before this project rises to something none of us can stop anymore, I need your goddamned _help_!”

Levi is vaguely aware that the wheezing has stopped, that he no longer feels Hanji's throat beneath his palm. He has released his chokehold, his other hand is still holding the injector pistol, yet his forefinger has moved from the trigger. Hanji gasps for breath but doesn't move, eyes closed, and Erwin...

He doesn't smile. It would be inappropriate to. His mouth is set in a grim line, the deep crease between his brows speaks of his angry devotion, his faith that isn't gentle or hopeful.

Levi stares back. His thoughts are no longer hazy with confusion, even strangely calm, as if a part of him has gone through with his plan as he wanted: kill them all and run as far as he can.

That likely is a part of himself he doesn't need anymore.

He pushes himself up from Hanji, who in turn blinks and slowly sits up, rubbing their throat. Levi briefly looks down at the hanging brown head, then back to Erwin.

Erwin is a good chunk taller than him – it has always felt this way, as if he were somehow _taller,_ regarding Levi from a vantage point with his thoughtful sincerity. But now that Levi is standing again, it seems like they are on eye-level, even when the laws of physics naturally are the same.

“Don't drag me down, shitty bastard.”

Hanji utters a raspy laugh that rather sounds like they're spitting. “'n penny for the swear-jar, both of you.” They clear their throat in a futile effort to speak smoother, then add: “Did you think this through at all, Erwin?”

Said man moves over to help them up, briefly touching the back of their head and check his fingertips for blood – there is none. It's a simple, purposeful touch, yet it's the first time Levi sees Erwin initiating contact with someone on his own accord. Not counting himself.

“If he's found, he knows our faces anyway,” Erwin replies with an irritating lack of concern. If it's relief beneath there, Levi can't quite tell. “There is no survival without...” He glances at Levi as Hanji moves their goggles over their eyes again. “Do you want to keep your name?”

Levi doesn't hear him. His senses return to alert, and with it, to caution. He has heard an unfamiliar sound, and although it may just be the bunker's occasional background noise, his gut has a different feeling about it.

There it is again: the low sizzling of electricity. It has an odd pattern, like an irregular rhythm but with the same durance of the noises.

Steps.

“Someone's coming.”

The muscles of Erwin's jaw work under his skin – Levi must admit he doesn't take long to process it. The blond man jerks his head towards the desk, which Levi takes as a sign where they put his shotgun, then his attention shifts to Hanji. “Can you get into the armor?”

For the first time, Hanji seems startled, maybe even worried. “I... gotta hot-wire the sealing system, or it'll run dry at scrambling – look, I _told_ you I'm nearly out of fusion cores-”

“Do it. I'll back you up.”

Erwin sounds so sure in spite of his lack of a proper weapon; Hanji appears like they might protest, suggest something else because they have to know how limited combat resistance is without a proper weapon.

Then the jaded weariness locks back in, Levi can almost see shutters lower behind those eyes, another human machine whirring into operating state. “Attaboy.”

Hanji gives Levi a quick nod and hurries through one of the doors, their rubber soles squeaking on the floor in a way that grates on Levi's sensitive ears. As soon as Hanji has left, Erwin bars the other door with a pipe wrench, then draws the cryogenic laser from his boot.

Levi checks his shotgun for shells, then snaps the barrel up again. This, too, is eerily loud. He offers Erwin the injector pistol, though it feels like he's handling a toy – this thing doesn't pack a punch, it's likely to glance off from armored fiber. “Who're we up against?”

Erwin takes the pistol nonetheless, weighing it in his hand as if to measure the weight and the force of the injections. It doesn't seem to reassure him, but all it does is deepen the slight frown; the exhaustion that has hinted before is a bit more prominent, and Levi wonders how long he's been out.

“Synths, probably. The simpler kind, generation two. If you can, interrupt the power supply at the back of the neck.”

Something within Levi cringes at the mention of synths – _synths like him?_ – but it doesn't distract him from the fact that what Erwin describes sounds more like a robot. Figures... He's oddly settled for it. Destroying something that is like him, maybe even as unaware as he has been, would feel like hypocrisy for the first time.

Unfortunately, a non-living opponent won't react to narcotics and not as strongly to the extremely low temperature of a cryo-laser. Hanji's armor better be good, or they'll have to hope for few attackers. And Levi isn't good at hoping for something.

“If you got any fancy tactics prepared like last time, leave me outta them.”

It's out of his mouth in a whisper, even when Levi knows it's better not to speak at all – this may be the last time they talk, and alluding to the first time seems fitting. And simultaneously, it makes Levi feel the rift between him and Erwin, the lost trust and remains of anger for holding out for more. He should know better. He didn't.

“Alright.” Erwin loosens the fastenings of his coat, then discards the injector pistol and the laser after all and turns to the chemistry station, turns his back on Levi, too. He takes something from the table that looks like a bottle of ethanol and stuffs a piece of cloth into the neck, sets his improvised Molotov cocktail on fire.

It's awkwardly quiet for a second.

“It's alright if you don't forgive me.”

There is that one high-and-mighty statement that stirs Levi's anger and a spark of bewilderment as well – Erwin knows his way with words, why is he stupid enough to provoke him in this situation? – but before he can look over the shoulder, the remaining door bursts open.

They are nothing like him.

It really is a relief of some sort, and at the same time it's surreal. The thing running through the doorway is made from a steel skeleton with white armor plates covering the limbs. The bald head has an expressionless mask as a face, generic with glowing yellow eyes and unmoving lips, the chunky, large pistol the creature holds with both hands seems like a toy rather than a deadly energy weapon.

“Hostiles,” a mechanic voice drones from a loudspeaker where ears should be. “Lay down your weapons or lethal violence-”

It shoots despite the warning, and Erwin throws the burning bottle. The energy beam and the Molotov cocktail meet mid-air, shattering into a scorching rain of hot shards and flames. The synth crackles as the heat melts parts of its visual sensors, but the hands that feel no pain fire nonetheless at its target, forcing Erwin to throw himself behind the desk.

Levi's first shot has the android stumbling backwards, yet the shitty box actually survives the hit from close distance and remains on its feet; Levi hisses in irritation and fires into the neck, which tears the cables with an electric crack and finally fells the body.

But it's not alone.

They can't swarm the room because of a narrow staircase Levi catches a glimpse of, but they are fearless and unrelenting. Levi counts two more synths taking cover behind the wall on both sides of the door before a third one comes charging in. It holds a security baton that crackles with enough electricity to reduce a bear to a convulsing mess.

Levi has to leave that one to Erwin and concentrate on the other two: if they manage to shoot the chemistry station and it blows up, it'll fry him and Erwin alive.

He has two shots to keep them in check, kneeling behind the already charred desk for the little fire protection it has to offer. The synth gauges the distance, eyes moving distressingly autonomously from one another, then chooses Erwin as the target that needs to be taken out first.

The blond has moves his coat from his shoulders so it's caught in the crooks of his arms now, enabling him to cover his hands with the sleeves. Having held the piece of clothing before, Levi knows there's some sort of rubber embedded – he just wouldn't bet that it's enough to keep him alive in a situation like this.

But it's too late to reconsider.

When the synth raises the crackling baton, Erwin grabs its wrists before the weapon touches him; despite that, Levi sees him go rigid as the shock hits him. For that split second, he sees it all: how Erwin's eyes roll back into his skull, how his mouth opens slightly as pain slams into him with ferocity. How his brain struggles against blacking out when his muscles are instantly tense and hard, jerking at his limbs like strings on a puppet.

There is a low growl that has more in common with a wild beast with its back against the wall than with a man fighting for his life. With that primal sound that's not even loud, simply menacing, Erwin stems his foot against the synth's abdomen and _rips_.

The chords of synthetic fiber and copper give way as the hands are torn from the wrists and now hang on a few chords, twitching uselessly and unable to hold the baton. But the stumps are now sizzling with electricity from the core of the synth itself, providing a weapon that is no less dangerous. The synth is thrown back by the impact, stumbles as its empty arms come free and takes a moment to recalibrate.

Its companions take aim, and Levi has to avert his attention. He manages to damage one of the laser pistols as it doesn't retreat fast enough, significantly lowering the strength of the energy blast. His other bullet hits the face and cracks plastic, but it doesn't appear to affect the function.

Worse, he has to reload now, leaving Erwin without fire support. And if those fucked-up things know, at least one of them dies.

Did Erwin count the shots? Levi hazards glancing at him while his hand sneaks into his pocket to pull more shells from it. He closes his fingers around the smooth projectiles, warm from his body as Erwin lifts the chair that once stood before the desk. He's trembling, aftereffects of a powerful electric shook that leaves his muscles weaker, the smell of blood dripping from his palms fills the air along with the singed stench of plastic.

Levi can't see his face anymore, but strangely enough, he hears the harsh breaths of the only other living being in the room and, beneath it, the feral sound of someone refusing to die.

With that sound that is nothing like his usual quiet, self-controlled demeanor, Erwin slams the chair against the synth so hard the concrete behind it crumbles slightly. The chair's legs are metal and therefore conductive, and just as Levi pushes the first shell into the barrel, Erwin does cry out in agony.

There is no explanation why the second shell slips from Levi's fingers at that – they don't even tremble. But it does, leaving Levi with only one shot and two opponents simultaneously taking aim at the man smashing a deformed chair down on a synth, again and again.

It's not the worst way to die: fighting, that is.

Levi adjusts his shotgun, aiming it at the head of the synth with the damaged face. He can only take out one of them, and the other one will kill Erwin. There is no time for him to reload or for Erwin to take cover – even if he tries, it would open the way to the chemistry station, and already a poorly aimed blast would set that on fire.

It will happen. Levi doesn't want it to, but he has no way of preventing it; so he focuses on the other synth while his hands maintain the aim on the other, already searching for the weak-spot Erwin mentioned. He can reload blindly if need be, and he wants _freedom_.

His own freedom, not borrowed from Ackerman's sacrifice.

More steps echo from the stairway above as Levi pulls the trigger and takes out his first opponent in the moment Erwin brings down the chair one last time. From the corner of his vision, Levi sees him raise his head, realizes that even if there were a safe cover in reach, Erwin's cramped muscles would not be fast enough. At least he's facing death heads up.

Except the mortal shot doesn't come.

Under Levi's gaze, the remaining synth drops its gun and topples over, the light in the yellow eyes extinguished.

No time to wonder – three more are approaching, and even if Levi hasn't run out of luck yet, he has to rely on Erwin to take out at least one of them, and they all seem to be armed with rifles. The backup, no doubt, but that's of little help.

And because of that, the screeching of hydraulic valves has never sounded quite so pleasant as Hanji finally reappears through the other door.

Levi knows power armors: large, massive suits covering the whole body in chunky steel. Despite their primitive appearance, they enhance the wearer's strength and deflect bullets from small-bore weapons like hale. Usually, though, they come with equally massive arms like missile launchers that would be too heavy and powerful to use for a human.

Hanji holds no gun, the huge metallic gloves handle a bulky sledgehammer that is nearly as tall as Levi and clearly not meant for human use. The face under the heavy helmet invisible, though the head lamps glow from faked eyes like the stare of a monster.

In these close quarters, no large-caliber gun could pack the fearsome punch of this gigantic tin can. Levi wonders for a split second whether he ought to be a bit more polite with Hanji.

Energy missiles rain down on the armor and make it glow with heat, but seem to do no damage as Hanji charges, simply smashing synths against the walls; their white protective fiber breaks under the sledgehammer like frosting. They know no fear – they don't try to evade the strike, the only order remains trying to cause as much damage as possible, firing as long as they can. Their exoskeletons crunch as the doctor stomps on them like a petulant child on ants, then straightens to scan the area for more.

There is something surreal in that massive thing trampling back into a room where the ceiling barely doesn't scrape over the helmet, turns its back to its companions and freezes. The lights on the head go out and breath comes through the air filters of the helmet in a crackling rush.

“Daft thing's stuck _again_ , for Christ's sake. Shhh...”

Hanji slams their armored fist against the center of the chest, the armor trembles slightly as they seem to squirm inside of it. “Lend me a hand, Er-... No matter. Short stuff, take out the fusion core.”

If Hanji has to override the security protocol to use the power armor, it explains why they've taken their sweet time returning here. Levi consciously avoids looking at Erwin, whom Hanji apparently doesn't trust to be of help right now, and rises from his crouch to walk around the armor. Part of him is too surprised to be alive and unharmed to question their orders.

The fusion core is on the back, a cone with a dully glowing center that indicates it barely holds energy now. Hanji sets the sledgehammer down with a loud thud, mumbled complaints slipping through the air filters.

The steel surface of the armor is still hot, some of the plating is burst. A few frame joints in the left leg seem to have melted, and judging by Hanji's deep breaths, the oxygen supply isn't flawless.

Still, it's a military weapon that, in these times, is very hard to come by. Especially a full suit of armor certainly isn't the collectible of every doctor around here.

Levi rises onto his toes to reach for the fusion core, tries to pull it out with his short nails. They slip from the smooth surface; he has to take his knife to pry it out, and a series of metallic clangs follows as the armor finally opens at the back. Most of it, anyway.

Hanji awkwardly pulls themselves out, breathing deeply and cursing underneath it as their left leg gets stuck and they nearly stumble into Levi while climbing down from the towering armor. More oil stains smear their face and sweat gleams on their face, though they waste no time on it: they give Levi an appraising once-over to check him for injuries, then briefly clap his shoulder. The rubber glove leaves dark stains on his coat, but Levi can't care right now. And Hanji has already crossed the room for Erwin.

“Zapped you good, I see.”

It sounds only a bit too harsh for a jab between friends, especially since it's the tone Hanji always uses with Erwin. As if there too, is a coldness.

_It's alright if you don't forgive me._

Maybe Erwin has said it before. And maybe Hanji has taken him up on his offer.

With nothing pressing to do and the feeling that he'll have a hard time getting up if he sits down, Levi wanders over to the fallen synths to examine them. There is a hiss of spray behind him as Hanji treats the burns on Erwin's hands and an occasional crackle of remaining energy from the androids themselves, but no sign of anyone approaching. It leaves Levi with these weird puppets and the unwanted thought that he, in his own way, is as artificial as they are. Someone built him, bred his cells from a living human – or at least a living creature, if Ackerman really was a mutant or an extraterrestrial being – and constructed him to act.

“We need to get moving.”

Levi has to hand to Erwin that he displays almost full control again: no tremble in his voice, only remaining roughness, and when Levi turns his head to look at him, the man has regained his straight posture. But he's pale and sweaty, his moves hold a stiffness that betrays his pain.

Hanji sighs and drags their fingers through thick brown hair; they have discarded the gloves of the jumpsuit and their hands look small compared to the baggy sleeves. “I'll see what I can get out of the trash over there. Sit down, your cardiac arrhythmia is above tolerable.”

Erwin doesn't argue, which likely indicates he feels it, too. Levi doesn't want to go over, but when Hanji begins to pry open covers that look like battery compartments along the spine on the fallen synths, it makes him strangely sick. He _knows_ he doesn't have one of those, and yet he can't help comparing himself to these... things.

Erwin carefully retrieves his holotape, then leans against the remains of the table, eyes vacant. For once, he doesn't seem to plan his next five steps. Some strands of hair have slipped from their usual neatly combed placing, he emanates the sharp smell of disinfectant and burned skin. When Levi steps in front of him (mainly to keep his back to Hanji's doing), he looks up.

“Good aim,” he says with at least some appraisal.

Levi snorts. Yes, he has taken out the majority, and it is an impressive feat. But it will be some time until he can... feel pride again. Right now, it damn well feels like somebody else has done this for him, like Ackerman's shadow lingers, and it pisses him off.

The corners of Erwin's eyes crinkle slightly in response. To Levi's dismay, that makes it a little easier to acknowledge his own feat – although he knows that Erwin can tell the difference between Ackerman and him as little as anyone else. If the common belief is true, there isn't even one, aside from the component in Levi's body.

“What's the plan?”

Levi isn't in the mood for dwelling on the thought whether they make a good team; so far they have.

Erwin's face returns to its normal grim set, he smooths the back of his hand over his hair as if he's just now remembered the disorder. The burns on his palms look nasty, but they no longer weep and the damaged tissue already looks less angry. Medical treatment has had a lot of time and material to learn how to invent treatments with quick results.

“We go into hiding until we've lost them; ideally, we find out how they knew we'd be here.” He doesn't mention who 'they' are, even when Levi is aware he's speaking of the people who sent those synths. Only that's a very vague term, and he's had it with those.

“The science fuckers from the holotapes, you mean.”

Erwin nods curtly. “We have reason to believe they've made a deal with the Institute, hence the use of synths like these. However, they seem to be an independent group, trading with the Institute rather than allying with them. Their caches and abandoned labs I've found so far indicate that they're extremely cautious to hide their state of research. This distrust keeps them from asking for more help, but it also makes their bases harder to locate.”

At that point, he briefly closes his eyes as if to fight off a dizzy spell, and Levi _almost_ worries what Hanji said about his heart may be more problematic than expected. Albeit Erwin recovers before it becomes something he can't pretend he hasn't seen.

“We need to be more careful if that attack just now wasn't a lucky guess; and it's unlikely that these people would go as far as to put themselves in debt based on that.”

Heartwarming. Levi scrubs a hand over his face, then remembers the remains of gunpowder sticking to it and grimaces. Wherever those guys retreat to, he hopes there is a proper water supply. “Any guesses who sold you out?”

It's just a shot in the dark since Levi has no idea who else Erwin is allied to, and how loyal they are – there can be other reasons, yet Erwin doesn't even flinch. He is considering this as soberly as any other option, as if trust doesn't matter in this situation.

“It's possible-”

“Erwin.”

At first, it seems like Hanji interrupts him to stop him from voicing his suspicion, their face has darkened as they rise.

Levi doesn't like the glance he gets.

“I didn't witness your fight, so what's with the undamaged synth over here?”

It's the one that should have killed Erwin. Levi looks at it and shrugs, its now open 'spine' gives him chills. “Dropped dead. Maybe it was out of energy.”

Hanji hesitates in a way that denies his explanation, gaze searching for Erwin's. There is something unspoken between them, more silent secrets, and it grates on Levi's nerves. They want his help, but they don't want to tell him shit...

“That's not plausible,” Erwin says, either noticing Levi's emotions despite his blank face or for once deciding to be open by himself. Which Levi finds hard to believe, and he's careful to give nothing away.

Hanji shakes their head, lips caught between white teeth.

“It's charged. Which gets me a new core, so thanks, but that doesn't happen out of the blue.” Hanji drags a hand through their hair, mussing it up and out of the knot. They seem irritated, though neither at Levi nor at even anyone in particular. “The main wires are still intact, but the power supply was... severed. As if it was turned off.”

Levi has no idea why something that is obviously a construction error – those happen more often than not in times of old, flawed factories – bothers Hanji so much, but he's also in no mood to talk about it. Neither seems Erwin, though the difference between them is that he pulls himself together. Ever the working type.

“Perhaps it's meant to detonate and conserves energy for that.”

Hanji angrily waves the remark aside. “Then it would have blown up in my face as I touched it! Besides, it's out. No activity even before I took out the core. No one but their creators can turn synths off, we'd all be sleeping better if we knew how it worked! Christ, what did you do? Anything besides shooting at it?”

They stop in front of Levi, so close that it alerts him. The glow in Hanji's eyes is feverishly intense, seemingly devouring everything they see. Very diverse from Erwin's piercing stare, but comparably strong.

“What the fuck do you wanna hear? I _looked_ at it. It was my next target.” Levi knows he shouldn't feel offended, yet he does. Because Hanji makes it sound like these tin cans are anything like him, like he could affect them-

What.

“I didn't,” he grits out before Hanji can open their mouth again. He hears them think it anyway, sees Erwin absentmindedly rub his wrist with the backs of his fingers. “If Ackerman possessed the ability to influence synths, he never used it to escape or at least manipulate terminals. However, his genes combined with your creation could have initiated evolution.”

Hanji's eyes widen slightly, and they rub at their goggles with sloppy movements that practically brim with a mind whizzing around that idea. If possible, it makes Levi feel even more uncomfortable, up to the point where he questions his decision to go along with them.

Except he knows that Erwin isn't a complete idiot and apparently technically versed, and still it took him time and effort to dig up at least some data about this group of scientists and project Leviathan. Targeting this without any previous knowledge and help will be impossible.

“It's definitely devoid of energy now?” Erwin inquires, yanking Levi out of his thoughts again, and Hanji nods, eyes still roving restlessly.

“Then we're taking it.”

“Great idea to have me carry dead weight again,” Hanji growls, but doesn't protest in earnest. Apparently they are as eager to keep the intact synth as Levi is to have it out of his sight. His mouth is bitter and dry as ash.

“So to you, Ackerman was a fucking mecha-wizard or some shit.”

Erwin straightens, indicating that they will prepare to leave now – it seems to serve as some signal for Hanji to retreat before they take even more offense at Levi's words. They do it with a frown and the fusion core in their hand, moving back to climb up the power armor and mess with its innards.

“He was brave,” Erwin says almost quietly. “He had a sense of justice. As do you.”

“I didn't ask for your fucking judgment!” Levi snaps, partly surprised at the ire in his voice himself. His fists have balled at his side, and he feels an ache in his jaw where he's gritting his teeth so hard the muscles stand out under his skin.

He doesn't want to be compared to Ackerman, and Erwin just does not get it. He thinks it's a compliment.

“You feel responsibility for those weaker than you, up to the point of putting yourself in danger for them.” Erwin regards him, something in the pale face that all too clearly wears the traces of a strenuous battle and endured pain is eerily fierce, as if his resolve suffices to keep his body going. “That is enough reason why he should have lived, no matter what kind of species he was.”

Levi makes an abrasive sound in the back of his throat; it scrapes on his vocal chords. “You're full of shit, all talk.”

“I can prove you wrong.” Erwin cocks his head a little, seemingly immune to the insult. “If you let me. But it's not necessary to work with me, as long as you cooperate.”

Levi knows they make a good team. Erwin knows. They are a shitty perfect match for things that involve killing and surviving and a few other things Levi needs to get the hell out of his mind.

For now, he glares and says nothing. It's not much, but he has a precious little bit of time to think about it, wrap his mind around the shit he's now waist-deep in. He doesn't even want to consider his possibilities, there just isn't an alternative.

And Levi doesn't want to run. He hasn't ever run from a fight.

The power armor closes around Hanji again with a series of creaks, and the massive structure picks up sledgehammer and fallen synth, both equally weightless to it. It all looks very symbolic, in a twisted way, and for a moment Levi watches the two others go, Hanji in their huge metallic toy soldier and Erwin with his back straight, replacing his laser musket with an Institute rifle without even stopping his stride.

Levi doesn't know how human they are. Or whether comparing himself to them is any healthier than to Ackerman.

But then he follows. Because he's strong, he can recapture his life and get rid of the shadow of another death.

Because he's Levi.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It is done!  
> I'm very grateful some of you could enjoy the tribute, even some who aren't into Fallout - I hope I didn't nerd you out in the second part. As a fun fact: the bar singer always comments on your strongest ability, so Levi's perception is his best discipline.  
> If you weren't too bored over the long time, feel free to add your thoughts! I've always wondered about the limits of Hanji's endurance and the fraction Erwin would join, assuming he can't build his own. And the perfect weapon for Levi. Aside from everybody's favorite toy gun.  
> Or just comment on my many grammatical errors. I never manage to hunt all of them down.


End file.
